The Nightmare in France
by toby7400
Summary: Just as an end to the Hundred Years War seems to be on the horizon, a powerful new enemy emerges. Now France and England's only chance is to set aside their generations old feud and join forces.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue-Meet Ilsa Steiner

It was another typical day in the Mercenary Tavern, as the French and English had dubbed the unofficial base for the various mercenary troops that had come to France. Warriors from around the world spent the denier they'd earned from their last contract on food, alcohol, and enough new equipment for their next contract. Also typical was the the chatter between the fighters; mercenaries laughed together about battles they'd been on opposite sides of, talked about new and strange weapons and warriors they'd seen, and gossiped about various figures in the conflict. At one table the subject had drifted to a certain troop of German mercenaries.

"They make a comical sight on the battlefield," Naran chuckled, "Ilsa standing there with a sword longer then she is tall and landsknechts on both sides towering head and shoulders over her."

The young Mongol chuckled into his drink, William, Magnus, and Georges sharing his table. "It may look funny to you, but it just shows how tough that girl really is." the tavern keeper called from behind the bar.

"What do you mean?" Naran asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Somehow, that girl earned those big German bastards' respect," Magnus explained, "no small task from what I hear." The one-eyed tavern keeper nodded approvingly to the young Irishman and returned to his costumers. On his way to refill a loud mercenary's ale, he gave a friendly smile to Joan of Arc, who was nursing a cup of honey water. The Maid of Orleans never drank.

Just as Magnus and company where returning to their chat, the door of the tavern swung open and a squad of landsknechts entered. They were tired and dirty, many with fresh blood staining their garish outfits, but as confident and boastful as ever. At the head of the squad stood their leader, Ilsa Steiner; the stocky, four foot eleven young woman sauntered in casually, her massive zweihander rested across her shoulders and her hands propped on the handle and blade to steady it. Measuring five feet ten inches, the sword was in fact longer then Ilsa was tall.

Seeing her friend, Joan finished off her drink and walked over to the group with a smile. The French heroine's smile faltered, however, when she got a good look at Ilsa. Not noticing the girl's discomfort, Ilsa smiled, "Gutentag, Joan, vat can I do for you?"

Joan cleared her throat and answered, "I-I was 'oping we could 'ave one of our talks."

At this point, Ilsa raised an eyebrow, "Something wrong?" Over Joan's shoulder the young landsknecht noticed the tavern keeper tug on his shirt. A moment later, Ilsa realized she was still wearing her long red coat, the one she wore when fighting for the English. "Uh, ja, ve talk, Joan. Go up to mein room, I vill be along."

As Joan left, Ilsa set a large bag of denier in front of the tavern keeper, "Subtract da value of vatever mein boys drink from dat." Her men cheered, some affectionately patting her on the head as they moved to the bar. Chuckling at the gesture that once annoyed her, Ilsa made her way to the back of the tavern and hung her sword on the tavern's communal weapons rack then moved to her locker. She quickly took off her red coat and hung it up then, after a moment of thought, grabbed her blue (French contract) long coat. She closed her bright blue eyes and splashed water on her face to wash the blood off her left cheek (the tavern keeper left a bowl of water out for just that purpose) and went up the stairs as she pulled the blue coat on.

On the way, Ilsa thought over the battle she'd been in that afternoon. "Well done, Lady Steiner!" Prince Edward had praised when she and her men had stormed their objective, helping the English win the battle. Ilsa herself had beheaded the French Base Commander. Now she was on her way to have a friendly chat with one of France's greatest heroines. _Father was all about loyalty,_ Ilsa thought wearily, _Wonder what he'd think of me hopping from one side to the other._

Ilsa entered her room to find Joan sitting on her bed, resting against the wall. The French champion must have noticed the mercenary's change in wardrobe, giving an appreciative smile at the gesture. Ilsa pulled off her huge feathered red hat, allowing her strawberry blond hear to fall freely and sat on the edge of the bed as she tossed it to her dresser. "So Joan, vat do you vant to talk about?"

"Actually, I was zinking we could talk about you," Joan said sitting up, "You've done more to 'elp me zen you could know, Ilsa, letting me talk about my troubles without judgment. I was 'oping I could do zat for you."

Ilsa was taken aback by this, she'd never been one to talk about her feelings. Her role as Joan's confidant had simply been an easy way to help her friend vent. Somewhat put on the spot, Ilsa was able to think of one thing that had been vexing her. "I'm not quite."

"...Beg pardon?"

"Everyvon thinks I'm dis stoic, taciturn fighter," Ilsa grumbled, "I'm German! Mein English und French aren't dat gut! DAT'S vy I don't talk much vith da other mercenaries."

Joan giggled at the little landsknecht's outburst. "See? Didn't zat feel good?"

Ilsa smiled and regarded her friend, "I admire you, Joan. Nine of ten contracts mean nothing to me, dere just vays to get money on da same battlefields over und over." she sighed, "Sometimes, I'm not even sure vich side I'm on. But you und-" _da Black Prince_ , "...another kommandant I respect, you believe in vat you're fighting for. I vise I vas dat dedicated to something."

"Thank you," Joan's expression became curious, "Whose's ze ozere commander? Lord de Richemont?"

"Ja, dat's him," _It's not a lie, I respect Arthur too._

The two girls talked for a while longer, until finally Joan had to return to Calais for a meeting with la Hire and de Rais. Ilsa walked her friend out, trading a gutantag for an au revoir, and then went to the bar to order a pint. Sigh, I really miss beer steins, the young mercenary thought, remembering many a happy drunken night in her hometown of Hamburg. Sensing eyes on her, Ilsa turned to see Naran and company eyeing her. "Vat?"

"Another good 'talk' with your friend," Naran said with a smirk.

Ilsa sensed there was something off, but her limited understanding of English made it hard to figure out what. "Vat are you talking about, speak sense!"

"He's suggestin' you and the Maid are lovers." Magnus calmly explained. Ilsa nearly fell out of her chair. She'd been with a few girls before, usually after too much to drink, but Joan would never go for that. In any case how was two girls being in a room together every now and then automatically interpreted to mean they were fucking each other?

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Ilsa." William said consolingly, "Look at Karen and Diane; they don't try to hide from anyone." Ilsa followed the timid youth's gesture to a corner where Diane was sitting in Karen's lap, unabashedly leaning against her lover.

No longer willing to dignify the boys at the table with her attention, Ilsa turned to the tavern keeper. "I need da scariest, most dangerous contract you've got for tomorrow. Und Villiam und Naran are coming vith me."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1-Sword and Sheath

Iamarl watched from her seat as Henry 'Hotspur' Percy paced the length of the English command tent. "You really should calm down." the assassin remarked, she was sure not for the first time.

"He shouldn't have been in the battle, he's still sick." Hotspur's grumbles where targeted at Prince Edward. Only a few weeks before, the Black Prince had pushed himself so hard mentally and physically he'd ended up bedridden with illness. Now, too soon for Henry's liking, the prince was again serving in combat. Hotspur feared his friend would kill himself this time.

With an irritated huff, Iamarl stood and went to block Henry's path. "The prince is fine, we won the battle, and the men are ecstatic to have their Black Prince back. It was a good day, Hotspur." the assassin's tone softened a bit as she took Hotspur's wrists in her hands, guiding them to her hips "Actually, I was hoping the sword could return to the sheath tonight."

Henry's frustration began to fade, he even smirked at Iamarl turning his metaphor into an innuendo, but it returned in earnest and he stepped away from the assassin when Prince Edward entered the tent, flanked by Chandos and Branwyn. The Welsh girl was smiling at the prince, but Henry sensed that Chandos shared his concerns, to some extent at least.

"Hotspur, Iamarl," Edward greeted, "you both performed admirably today."

"Thank you, my prince," Iamarl said with a graceful bow of her head. Henry, however, gave no reply.

"Something wrong, Henry?" Edward asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You're not yet fit for duty, my prince." was the blunt reply. To his left, Percy could hear Iamarl's frustrated sigh. The sword would not be returning to the sheath in the foreseeable future.

"That's crazy," Branwyn spoke up, "The prince is as fit as he evah was."

"Still," Chandos said with a step forward, "It wouldn't be unwise to use caution. We have proven that we can function in your stead, my prince."

Edward glanced at his mentor in an 'et tu?' sort of way, before addressing all the assembled officers. "With things as hectic as they've become, I can't simply sit by anymore. The French have been pushing us back for weeks and now we've lost contact with Fastolf and Talbot as well. The men need someone to look to." Edward locked eyes with Henry, "Anyways, I'm fine."

A pregnant tension hung in the air for several seconds before the tent exploded into action. Hotspur lunged at the prince, his fist targeted at the young royal's jaw. At the last moment, Edward caught his friend's wrist, stopping the blow just short of connecting. At the same time, Branwyn had drawn her bow and had an arrow aimed at Hotspur's throat, Chandos raised his mace, and Iamarl reflexively drew her dagger, just stopping herself from stabbing her lover in the kidney.

Henry pulled his hand free and, ignoring the three armed people around him, angrily spoke, "If you were fine, I'd never of gotten so close. And next time it will be a French sword."

"Uh-hmm." The five commanders turn to see a young English soldier, named Owen, standing nervously at the entrance of the tent. "Apologies, yer 'ighness, but the scouts come back with a report."

Branwyn, Chandos, and Iamarl awkwardly put their respective weapons away as Edward and Henry exchanged one more look. Regaining his composure, the prince cleared his throat and nodded to Owen, "Go ahead then, soldier."

"French forces 'ave gathah'd at Calais, sire. They're most likely comin' aftah us."

"Can you identify these forces?"

"Scouts said they recognized the bannahs of Lord le Bon," the soldier hesitated, "...and the Witch of Orleans."

A collective feeling of dread sunk into the English commanders. Ever since the Battle of Orleans, everyone in the English Army had learned to fear the girl who had seemingly turned the tide of the entire conflict. Edward stifled a tired sigh and nodded to the youth. "Thank you, soldier. You may go."

"Soldier," Chandos called, "You will tell no one of what you saw in here."

"Wouldn't dream of it, milord." Owen bowed his head, then backed out of the command tent.

Edward took a deep breath, unwilling to let Hotspur see how heavy his trademark armor felt, and said, "We can't hold this ground. In the morning, we'll pull back to defensive positions in Normandy, everyone get some rest. We have a hard day tomorrow. All of us."

The prince's tone dared Hotspur, or anyone else, to challenge him. Before Henry Percy could answer, he felt Iamarl's hand on his shoulder. It was soft enough to be calming, but firm enough to remind him it was on a pressure point. The temperamental young knight stalked out, soon followed by Iamarl and Chandos.

Branwyn went to follow, but stopped at the command tent's entrance. "I'm not scared of some witch, my prince," the Welsh girl said confidently, "We'll send 'er and the other frogs home in jars."

The tired prince allowed himself a smirk as Branwyn left.

#*#*#

Philippe le Bon stood in his headquarters in Calais, waiting for his fellow commanders in the coming battle with his aid, Marie. "Zey say la Hire and de Rais are, in zere own ways, quite formidable." the blonde man said conversationally.

"Don't forget ze girl," Marie added, "Ze Maid of Orleans."

Philippe regarded his trusted aid for a moment. "Do you believe what some of ze common people say about 'er, Marie? Zat she was sent by God?"

Marie shrugged. She was a believer, (almost everyone in Europe was), but she had always taken a strictly secular view toward the war with England. "I cannot say, but I do believe she 'as done much for our cause."

Lord le Bon nodded, "Yes, it would seem we'll 'ave three powerful allies tomorrow." his look became troubled, "I just 'ope my weakness doesn't get in zeir way."

Marie frowned at her lord's words. She loved le Bon, but his continued self-doubt was infuriating and would kill him faster than any English blade. Couldn't he see himself for the handsome, noble figure she and everyone else saw?

Just then, a young soldier called Balian poked his head through the door, "My lord, your-whoa!"

Before the youth could finish, the door burst open and in strode la Hire. "Announcements are for formal parties! We're all soldiers and friends 'ere!" He loudly proclaimed, slapping the soldier on the back as he entered. Behind the big man, de Rais and Joan followed looking quite annoyed and amused at la Hire's antics respectively.

Philippe exchanged a look with Marie, and then turned to his new subordinates. "Well zen, I suppose we best get right down to business." he said with a chuckle. He gestured to a map of the northern France on his desk and continued. "Our mission is to push into Normandie. Ze English forces on ze continent are now spread out and weakened. Ze King believes it is time for ze final blow. If we can take control of Normandie, and cut ze English off from 'ome completely, ze remaining English forces in France will have no 'ope of escape or resupply."

"And 'ave no choice but to surrender." de Rais finished.

"It could finally be over." Joan said hopefully, almost to herself.

"A good plan," de Rais conceded, "but why do we not 'ave a stronger force?"

"I beg your pardon?" Marie asked tersely

"No offense intended, to you or your lord," de Rais said calmly, "I'm simply curious why France isn't committing full forces to zis mizzion. Why aren't de Richemont or du Guesclin involved?"

Unwilling to let le Bon falter in front of the other commanders, Marie spoke up. "du Guesclin and his lieutenant, Jean de Metz, were sent after ze English commanders Fastolf and Talbot in Champagne. However, all contact with either side seems to 'ave been lost. Arthur de Richemont and a force of mostly mercenaries 'as been sent to investigate."

"Shouldn't we go to 'elp in ze search zen?" la Hire asked, "If our men are in trouble, we must save zem!"

"We will save zem by ending zis war and with it ze danger du Guesclin and his men are in." Marie stated matter-of-factly.

Joan glanced between the two commanders. Her heart was with la Hire, wanting to help a comrade in need, but her brain told her Marie was right, the bigger picture took priority. Thinking of all the villagers she'd seen suffer, Joan steeled herself. "She's right, la Hire, we must force ze English to finally give up. Zen all of France will safe."

la Hire sighed, but nodded in agreement, meanwhile Marie and le Bon regarded the Maid. Marie was grateful for her support; le Bon was impressed by her confidence and quite strength. The matter settled, the five commanders gathered around le Bon's map to plan their assault.

Listening from outside, Balian smiled, confident that his country's champions would lead him and his comrades to triumph.

#*#*#

Arthur de Richemont rode at the head of his column. The young commander's force consisted of his own unit of knights, a company of French swordsmen, and several mercenary companies. You Ji, the Chinese mercenary turned loyal soldier to de Richemont, Marc and his spearmen, mercenary ax men lead by a newcomer named Bernard and mace users with an equally green commander called Maxwell, and a late arrival, Georges, who had shown up with his archers to be with his brother in battle just as they were about to enter Champagne.

de Richemont signaled a halt when he noticed a large force coming up the road toward him. His knights tightened the grip on their weapons cautiously as the potential enemies approached, and Arthur could hear other units down the line preparing. As the strangers approached, de Richemont was able see that they were made up of Cutthroats, Executioners, and Skullcrushers.

 _Damn savages_ , the young lord thought. Arthur had no love for the barbarians from who knew where. Their brutality toward enemies and civilians alike had made them a target of score from most commanders on both sides. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed they weren't wearing red or blue, but...purple? _Could it mean zey're between contracts?_

The barbaric warriors halted five paces in front of de Richemont, simply staring at the French commander and his men. Without letting his guard down, Arthur cleared his throat and spoke with authority, "Good evening, gentlemen, if you are not 'ostile, please clear ze road. My men and I must move into Champagne."

"You will not be able to help your friends, 'my lord'." an Executioner, the apparent leader of the barbarians said.

"'ow did you-"

"Your road ends here." That said, the Executioners rushed forward at the knights. The barbarians' massive swords cleaved the heads and legs off several horses, causing chaos and trapping several men under the bodies of their mounts. Arthur's own steed reared up suddenly, flinging the young commander off. After a few moments of weightlessness, Arthur slammed into the ground. The young nobleman's head hurt and his hearing was distant and echoed. In his blurred, spinning vision, Arthur could just make out the barbarians rushing forward to slaughter his confused soldiers. The cutthroats surged into the fray and cleaved into French swordsmen with their axes. The young commander could swear he saw a limb fly by.

Turning from the sight of a man being cut in half, de Richemont crawled toward his sword. Just as he'd reached his weapon, a shadow passed over the young lord. He looked up to see a barbarian raise his massive club. Arthur knew he was helpless, but before the Skullcrusher could live up to his job title an arrow buried itself in his left eye. A second later, seemingly dozens of other arrows rained into the purple clad mercenaries, followed in short order by charging spearmen. Marc, the impaled body of cutthroat flopping at the end of his spear, placed himself in front of de Richemont, soon joined by his men forming a protective phalanx around the young lord.

"Get de Richemont out of 'ere!" Marc shouted. Two mace users made their way to Arthur and hooked their arms under his shoulders. Maxwell directed his men to form up around the wounded noble and together they dragged him toward the archers and crossbowmen as Marc, his spearmen, and the surviving swordsmen and knights held the barbarians at bay. Arthur could see Georges and You Ji side by side taking shots at their attackers.

"The damn ax men ran for it." Georges grumbled as he notched another arrow and fired it into an executioner's throat. Prompting the dazed noble to look pasted the irritable archer.

"No...zey didn't." de Richemont commented, pointed over Georges' shoulder. You Ji and Georges looked behind them to see the fearful ax men rushing back to them, with several more companies of warriors in purple after them.

You Ji looked back to the scattered initial attackers, and made a rare comment. "I guess we're going to Champagne after all."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2-New Arrivals

Ilsa glanced over her shoulder with an amused smirk. William, quaking with fear, was making the sound one hears after a loud bang. Shaking her head, the young landsknecht turned back to her front, where Naran and his Mongol horse archers where riding straight toward her and her men, frantically firing at unseen, screaming pursuers. "Haben Sie keine Angst, Jungs!" Ilsa shouted, hoisting her sword, "Gott ist mit uns, weil er Geld liebt, auch!*"

*Don't be scared, boys! God is with us because he loves money, too!

The landsknechts gave excited calls as they to prepared for the coming fight, the seventh of the day. The Tavern Keeper had presented Ilsa with a contract to reinforce a French held castle in Ile-de-France, under heavy attack. After...persuading Naran and William to come along, Isla had set out. She and her company had spent the entire morning fending off increasingly fierce attacks by the English at first. It had gone unnoticed that the last two waves were wearing purple.

Naran locked eyes vindictively with Ilsa from the back of his mount and for a moment the German girl thought he just might stampede his men through her troops. Fortunately, the Mongols broke left and right at the last moment, revealing a troop of executioners, who seemed to freeze in surprise at the sight of the German troops.

The landsknechts wasted no time and rushed forward. Unlike the executioners, who mostly just chopped at their enemies, the garishly dressed German warriors had as much finesse with their huge zweihanders as fencing masters. Rushing toward an executioner, Ilsa flipped her sword around, now holding it by the blade. She used the large cross guard as a hook and yanked her opponent's left ankle out from under him. Flipping the zweihander back around, Ilsa sank the tip of the blade into her downed opponent's chest, then turned to another approaching enemy. She blocked the big man's strike, then slid her own sword down along his blade. When the weapon was where she wanted it, Ilsa leveled it and thrust, driving the long sword through the executioner's torso. Tightening her grip, Ilsa yanked her sword to the left, ripping it free of the barbarian's body with a shower of gore. Turning away from her dying enemy, Ilsa readied herself for an attack from a cutthroat. The young mercenary blocked his strike then turned her blade downward, guiding his ax into the ground. She let the weapon slam into the dirt and, with a step to her right, swung her sword around taking his head clean off. "DECAPITATION!"

Around Ilsa, the other barbarian mercenaries where scattering in every direction. "Bilden up, Jungs!*" she shouted. The Landsknechts lined up either side of their leader, William's shield and spearmen assembled behind them, and Naran's Mongols gathered to their right. Ilsa switched to English to address the three companies as a whole. "Everyvon okay?"

*Form up, boys!

There was a general murmur of agreement from the mercenaries as they awaited the next attack. The troop was kept waiting longer than usual, however, and some of the spearmen began to fidget uncomfortably. They could still hear their enemies moving around beyond the castle's ruined gates, but no one came. "You want me to go and lure another group in?" Naran asked.

Just then, a rumbling sound like an elephant could be heard heading toward the defenders. "Nein, here dey come."

"Why don't they just call it good for the day?" William said, gesturing to the numerous fallen warriors scattered around the mercenaries. "Is it really that important they kill us?"

"Nobody's gonna kill us, Villiam. Just keep it together und ve be okay." Ilsa said without turning from the gate. A large shadow emerged from beyond the gate and out stepped a creature previously only from stories. It stood half again as tall as the eight foot knights the English and French used as citadel commanders, with grey skin, lightly glowing purple markings, one eye in the center of its head, and a horn just above its eye. Ilsa remembered Faust, an old friend back in Hamburg, telling her about just such a beast; a cyclops. "Gott im Himmel.*"

*God in heaven.

"You were saying, Ilsa?"

#*#*#

Joan stood in the comfortable room le Bon had provided for her, making sure her armor was properly adjusted. Satisfied that her protective gear was in good order, the French heroine tied on her sword belt and placed her trademark flower over her right ear. She made her way to the castle's stables and greeted her horse, Gabriel, with a stroke of his neck.

Taking her lance from a soldier, Joan nodded her thanks and rode out to join her countrymen. Riding at the head of her unit of knights, the Maid rode past several companies of French troops. As the Maid pasted, one soldier, named Maurice, dropped to one knee and bowed his head, Balian and several others following suit. Joan graced them with a smile and beckoned the soldiers to rise. She was still somewhat uncomfortable with the 'sainthood' many had raised her to, but had adopted the stance to neither deny or support such claims. As the Maid took position beside de Rais and la Hire, she could also see le Bon and Marie organizing their own troops. The French Army had assembled a large force of soldiers and mercenaries of nearly all kinds; they'd even assembled a large arsenal of siege weapons.

The attack on Normandy was to be four pronged. le Bon and Marie would led half the army in from the northeast, Marie pushing to the coast and le Bon covering her from English counterattack. Joan, la Hire, and de Rais, would attack from the southeast. After taking their first base, Joan would lead her men further west, while la Hire and de Rais would move north in a pincher movement with le Bon. Sighing at the thought of the carnage to come, Joan made the Sign of the Cross and bowed her head. _God, I ask zat you guide and protect zese warriors, and if zey fall, to welcome zem into your holy kingdom. In your name and in ze name of your son, amen._

The French troops moved briskly toward their assigned targets, Joan's units coming up to a citadel in short order. A sea of red and black was arrayed to defend the fortified town, cavalry, various infantry units, and archers making up their numbers. As the English cavalry charged forward and the infantry behind them, Joan spurred Gabriel and rushed toward the English with a warcry, followed by knights, lancers, and mounted swordsmen. Behind them, la Hire led the infantry forward. Joan's lance bashed into the chest of a charging English knight, flinging him off is horse. She then ducked another English cavalier's sword as he passed by. Not stopping, Joan and her men continued to barrel forward, their momentum making them seem almost like blurs. The heavily armored cavalry crashed through the gathered English infantry, trampling or bashing their enemies aside. Emerging behind her enemies, Joan turned Gabriel to survey the scene she'd left. la Hire and his polesword men had managed to fend off the weakened English cavalry and were now marching toward the scattered enemy infantry units. She also noticed de Rais and his men engaging other English units that had attempted to flank them. Behind him, the French siege batteries were moving up.

Seeing three companies of English archers preparing to take aim at her friends, Joan signaled her cavalry to attack. It felt wrong, even brutal, since the archers had no hope against heavy cavalry, but if she didn't do it more French would die. One pass was all it took to scatter the English bowmen, whereupon the Maid again took stock of things. _I won't act rashly, not anymore._

Everywhere Joan looked, dozens of English soldiers fled in every direction, the French meanwhile where reorganizing and moving into position near the gates of the city. As the cannons and trebuchets where set up, de Rais approached Joan. "The English no doubt 'ave more troops coming," he said, "I'll keep zem at bay, while you and le Hire move into ze city."

Joan nodded and turned toward her knights, "Everyone dismount. We'd be easy targets in ze narrow streets on 'orseback." she climbed down and took Gabriel's reigns in her hand. She stroked her horse's neck as the unit's standard bearer came to lead him toward the other steeds. "I'll be back soon, mon ami."

True to de Rais's word, English troops appeared from around the corner of the wall. The long haired knight nodded to Joan and rode with his men to intercept the English as she and her knights moved to stand beside la Hire's men next to one of the army's cannons. As the artillery blasted at the town's walls and gates la Hire turned to his young friend. "I'll keep an eye on you, Joan," he said reassuringly.

Ever since her capture by the English, la Hire and to a lesser extent de Rais, had become rather protective of Joan. The Maid had mixed feelings on the matter. "Thank you, la Hire," she said evenly, "but don't put yourself or your men in danger on my account."

Just then, a well-placed cannonball blasted apart the base of a damaged patch of wall, causing the entire section to collapse. "Ha ha ha ha! It's crumbling down! Zey're ours!" la Hire shouted, rushing forward with a quick glance at Joan.

The French heroine drew her sword and called out to her men. "Forward! For France!" The knights followed after the polesword men, many more French and mercenary units behind them. Stepping gingerly over the ruble, they emerged inside the walls, finding two troops of sword and shield soldiers nervously waiting for them.

"Bloody hell! It's the Witch of Orleans!" a panicked cockney voice shouted. _I wish zey would stop calling me zat._ Joan thought as she marched toward the swordsmen. The outnumbered Englishmen rushed forward, locking their shields to create a wall and try to keep the French attackers at bay. la Hire and his men struck back, reaching over the Englishmen's shields to hack into them and breaking holes into the shieldwall which Joan's knights rushed into. Moving down off the shifting ruble, Joan swung her sword under an Englishmen's shield, slashing him across the stomach. By now the swordsmen had largely been dispersed and the French forces surged into the city as more and more openings were blasted in the walls. They moved quickly through the streets, making quick work of scattered squads of defenders on the way, before arriving in the center of town.

Joan, la Hire and their men, rushed into the city's central square. She quickly spotted the familiar sight of a huge English citadel commander surrounded by troops. She put her hand on la Hire's chest and raised her sword in the air to signal a halt. "Commander!" she called, "Lay down your arms and no more of your men 'ave to die!"

"I'll not yield to you, witch!" Sighing, Joan waved her sword forward and charged toward the English with her comrades. The outnumbered English defenders fought valiantly, but were quickly overwhelmed. The commander swung his huge sword, disemboweling three French soldiers at once. Taking a deep breath, Joan rushed toward the large commander, nimbly sidestepping a downward swing of the large blade. The Maid swung her own sword at the back of the commander's knee slicing through the weakly armored joint, a trick Ilsa had taught her. As the Commander dropped into a kneeling position, la Hire rushed forward and drove the blade of his polesword through the visor of the big knight's helmet. With the commander dead, the remaining English either laid down their weapons or quickly fled down the narrow streets. As her men cheered around her, Joan allowed herself to relax briefly.

After reorganizing their men, assigning some to protect the citadel and some to come with them, la Hire and Joan marched out the gates to meet de Rais. Joan took the reins of her horse from a squire as the long haired knight made his report. "Ze surrounding area is secure." de Rais said, "We can now proceed as planned."

"Joan, are you sure you don't want me or de Rais to come with you?"

Joan climbed onto Gabriel with a patient sigh. "I'll be fine, la Hire." she gave him a confident smile, "When ze battle's over, we'll 'ave drinks in ze English 'eadquarters together."

"I've sent a few units to scout ahead of you," de Rais's comment earned him a look from Joan, _Of course you did._ "Simply to gather intelligence, of course. Once you arrive, zey'll be under your command."

"A wise decision," Joan said evenly. Her tone and expression softened, "God protect you both." With that, Joan steered Gabriel to the west and lead her troops to their next objective.

#*#*#

Edward sat mounted on his black stallion, Attila, beside Chandos. Around them, hundreds of English knights, archers, and foot soldiers had gathered to await orders. The prince turned to his second in command and asked "Were we able to get any mercenaries to fight for our side?"

Chandos scoffed, "Most of the mercenaries in the area have already sold their swords to the French. I did try to contact that German fighter, but she's going against the Duke of Lancaster in Ile-de-France."

The prince shifted in his saddle, "I've sent a letter to Philippa in Aquitaine to bring as many troops as she can, we just have to make sure she's coming to help us rather than avenge us." Edward suddenly cupped his hand over his mouth to muffle a cough, "Are Hotspur and Iamarl in position?"

Chandos looked to his prince with concern. "They've headed north as you ordered, my prince."

"Good, you and Branwyn are to remain in reserve for now," the prince said, "I need people I trust backing me and the others up."

Chandos grabbed the Black Prince's left shoulder gently but firmly, looking the royal intently in the face with his one good eye. "Your Highness...Edward, please be careful."

Edward looked back, finally giving his mentor a promising nod. When Chandos released him, the young prince spurred Attila forward, and he rode to the head of the assembled English soldiers.

"For Edward and England!" an excited archer named Malcolm shouted. Dozens of other soldiers were quick to take up the chant.

"For Edward and England! Edward and England!" The royal held his head high, looking every bit the confident dignified prince. _They trust me, they're counting on me_ , the Black Prince thought _I won't fail them. I will be the hero they need._

Turning to face his battalion, Edward took a deep breath and addressed his assembled men. "Valiant warriors of England! The French mean to take control of Normandy, if they do, we'll be cut off from home. Everything we and our father's have fought for will be for nothing! We must not allow that to happen. Follow me and together we will drive our enemies back!"

The assembled troops responded with eager cheers and filed out after their prince as he turned and rode toward the battlefront. In short order, a mass of blue could be seen moving to intercept the Black Prince and his men. The young royal could see men mounted on horses and camels, with infantry in support. While he couldn't see the man himself, Edward saw that the French were flying the banner of Philippe le Bon. Noticing movement in his peripheral vision, the Black Prince turned to see his men begin to move forward. "Patience!" he called, "Let them come to us. Archers, move forward and wait for my command."

The famous English longbowmen moved up just behind the knights and readied their bows as the French advanced. The heavily armored French knights gradually quickened their pace, leading to a menacing tremor beneath the English soldiers' feet. That's it, keep coming. Just as his enemies went into full gallop, Edward shouted "Fire!"

The archers let off a volley over the heads of their mounted comrades, causing a rain of death to fall on the French cavaliers. Many of the blue clad knights attempted to stop, but their momentum made it near impossible; one mare that actually succeeded accidentally launched her rider through the air. The arrows descended like a hammer fall, punching holes through weak points in armor and knocking knights and horses to the ground, who were then trampled or tripped over they their mounted comrades. The disheveled knights where then crashed into by the more lightly armored camel riding mercenaries behind them, stalling the attack.

"Charge!" Edward shouted, spurring Attila forward. The prince and his knights rode forward, followed by swordsmen and spearmen, the archers notching arrows for another volley if needed. Edward discarded his lance as it buried itself in a downed French knight's chest and drew his sword, swinging it back and taking a knight's head off. The Black Prince flicked his wrist and swung his weapon back forward, decapitating another enemy. As the infantry moved forward to finish off the knights, the prince and his men continued to surge forward. Edward slashed an Islamic mercenary across the chest as he passed and pressed onward, toward the French infantry.

Seeing pikemen quickly forming into a spearwall, Edward raised his sword into the air. "On me! On me!" he shouted, as he pushed Attila even further. The knights to the prince's right and left heard the command and fell into place behind him, most of the others in the troop following when they saw the formation taking shape. Attila grunted at his master's spurring, but nevertheless quickened his pace.

The French pikemen were just lowering their weapons when the Black Prince was upon them. Edward ducked under a pike's spiked type and slashed down at its owner as Attila crushed another pikeman underhoof. The other English knights followed through the hole their prince had made slashing or jabbing at pikemen as they passed with swords or lances. The formation spread out once again as they trampled through French swordsmen and Indian mercenaries.

"Well done, Attila," Edward said with an appreciative pat on the equine's neck, the black stallion whinnied in response. The Black Prince turned to see his countrymen mopping up those enemies left by his charge.

Just as the last mercenary squad broke and fled, a tired scout approached. "Beg a report, your 'ighness."

"Go ahead, soldier."

"In the north, Hotspur is 'eavily engaged, and the Witch is comin' at us from the south." the scout panted.

As his company commanders gathered to await orders, Edward contemplated his options, thinking about what he'd once said to Henry Percy about trust. The prince looked over his men and announced "I trust Percy and Iamarl to fight their own battle, we're going south to face Joan of Arc."

#*#*#

"How do you fight this thing?!" Naran shouted as the cyclops plucked yet another of his arrows from its arm. All around the beast, landsknechts, spearmen, and Mongols nervously milled around, taking shots at it then jumping back out of reach. Several mangled corpses lay at the monster's feet. With an annoyed grunt, the cyclops swung its massive club and sent a landsknecht screaming through the air before slamming into a castle wall with a sickening crunch.

Flinching at the sound of her comrade's death, Ilsa took a deep breath and rushed toward the cyclops. The stocky little landsknecht moved under the monster's arm and swung at the tendons in its ankle. The creature yelled in pain as fell down on all fours, sparking a small tremor. Seeing the monster's vulnerable position, a spearman moved forward and jabbed it in side followed by a landsknecht slashing the monster's elbow making it fall flat on its belly. In moments, the German and English mercenaries rushed forward and the cyclops disappeared under a flurry of blades and spear tips while Ilsa and the Mongols watched from the side.

"Enough! It's dead! It's dead!" Ilsa shouted, yanking frenzied mercenaries away from the massive corpse. Her men finally ceased their flurried attacks, though one spearman felt the need to get in one last stab.

"What the fuck is going on?" Naran asked from the back of his horse.

"I don't know, but I do know dere was nothing in da contract about mythical beasts" Ilsa said as she looked over the beast's mangled body, "Far as I'm concerned, da contract is fulfilled. Ve're getting da hell out of here."

The three mercenary troops formed up and headed out into the open field. The area was littered with the bodies of English and French soldiers alike, as well as barbarians. "That was an impressive move, Ilsa." William said, trying to stay his nerves.

Glancing back at the timid young mercenary, Ilsa slowed her pace until they were walking side by side. She gave William a casual shrug of her shoulders and smiled. "Ven you're little, you're alvays going against enemies dat are bigger den you. I learned how to bring big guys down pretty quick, da principle's alvays da same."

"You don't think the English send that thing after us, do you?" William asked.

"I kind of doubt that." Naran called from the front of the group. The other two leaders moved forward and William nearly retched. Impaled on a long pike was the body of the Duke of Lancaster.

"Let's keep going," Ilsa said loud enough for all to hear. "Get back to the tavern und figure out what da hell is happening und vat to do next."

#*#*#

Edward and his troops advanced to the southeast, moving toward pillars of smoke in the distance. The prince became weary as he noticed the absence of any of the noise common in combat. The royal and his men arrived at an English outpost to find it ransacked and partially burned, the bodies of the garrison scattered everywhere. The fallen English soldiers hadn't simply been killed; many were hatched apart, disemboweled, or otherwise desecrated. Some had been impaled or nailed to walls. "Bastards." the prince heard Owen murmur.

"But were the 'ell are they?" another swordsman, James, called.

Looking around, Edward noticed that there were indeed no French or mercenary forces to be seen. The Black Prince surveyed the area, finding no sign of his enemies, though he did notice a path leading out of the outpost and into a patch of woods to the east. Sensing, and partially sharing, his men's rising fury, Edward moved to take control of the situation. "Calm yourselves. We will avenge this travesty." the prince pointed towards the woods, "Whoever did this most likely came from there," he pointed to a troop of armored men-at-arms, "You lot will stay here, we may need a fall back point, the rest follow me."

Leading his column forward, Edward cautiously moved into the forest. Before long, the English troops were met with carnage similar to what they'd left in the outpost, only now rage turned to confusion. These victims were in blue.

The Black Prince drew his sword and climbed down off Attila to better survey the scene. The French soldiers had been slaughtered; some of the bodies looked like little more than poorly butchered meat, just like the English victims. _What is happening?_ The prince turned to call to his men, but before he could speak, he felt the tip of a sword press against the left side of his neck. "Murderer!" a French accented voice sneered from behind the royal.

Edward began to raise his hands placatingly. Then, in one fluid movement, he spun on his heel, batting the weapon away with his left hand and raising his own sword to strike with his right. He stopped in surprise, however, when rather than an impassive metal helmet or a stone-faced soldier, the prince found himself looking at a beautiful girl with a flower in her hair.

Joan quickly recovered from her surprise and, sensing the prince's hesitation, struck at his exposed left side. Edward snapped out of his surprise in time to block, but the girl's blade ended up uncomfortably close to his face. _I hate it when Percy's right._

Carefully grabbing the blade of his weapon, Edward put his full weight into pushing the girl back. Joan was forced several frustrating steps back, then noticed Edward move to bash her in the head with the pummel of his sword. It was now the prince's turn to be frustrated, however, as Joan gracefully ducked under the attack. The Maid quickly shuffled around and behind the prince, before rising back up and preparing to strike. Edward, however, had kept the girl in his sight as she moved, and was ready for coming attack. The fight would then come to a screeching halt, however.

Unseen by the two champions, knights and soldiers of their respective kingdoms had gathered around their fight and Joan's maneuver had effectively left them both surrounded by enemies. The Maid unexpectedly found herself with several swords drawn on her, while Edward was given much the same treatment.

Having little choice, Joan lowered her own sword and locked eyes with the Black Prince. "'as ze war driven you mad?" she sneered, gesturing to her butchered countrymen.

"My men didn't do this," Edward said resolutely. Joan didn't look convinced. Just then, an English soldier let out a yell of pain before dropping dead with a hatchet buried in his neck. A moment later, a confused French knight was struck dead by an ax to his face.

Suddenly, a hail of spinning hatchets flew at the confused warriors, killing and wounding French and English alike. Behind the axes came a horde of creatures born of nightmares. Leading the charge were short, skinny monstrosities with large ears and noses and purple glowing symbols on their bodies. Behind the little goblins were bizarre mixtures of human and cow skeletons, somehow animated. Rounding out the attackers were barbarian mercenaries in purple.

The goblins rushed forward, piling on the human warriors, who fought back with desperate fury; Joan noticed an English soldier pull a hatchet from his own leg then then throw it back at his attackers. Dropping into a fighting stance, she watched as several of the little monstrosities rushed toward her. The Maid slashed at the first, nearly cutting it in half. Seeing this, the other goblins slowed their pace, not quite as eager now their helpless target had shown she could defend herself.

Edward, meanwhile, was having a harder time of things. Confronted by one of the skeletons, the prince stabbed into its ribcage, precisely where the heart should be. When this had not effect, he withdrew his blade and stabbed into the eye socket of the cow skull on top. Again, the attack failed to produce the desired effect. The skeleton stood mutely before the prince, and Edward got the distinct feeling it was mocking him. Growling in frustration, Edward turned the blunt side of his sword on the thing and swung the weapon at it like a club. Too late, the skeleton moved to defend itself and was smashed apart by the prince's blow, scattering into a satisfying pile of dead bones.

His chivalrous upbringing kicking in, Edward instinctively moved toward Joan. The Black Prince placed himself behind the Maid and the two fought back to back. Around the two, scattered French and English soldiers desperately fought for their lives, clearly overmatched. "Rally to me! Rally to me!" the prince called to his men.

Hearing their prince's orders, many of the surviving English fought their way to Edward. Seeing this, Joan followed suit. "Everyone gather together!"

Soon, several French and English soldiers and knights had packed together around their champions, similar formations taking shape elsewhere on the battlefield. This meant that any monster or barbarian to attack was met with a storm of blades, spear tips, and other unforgiving pieces of metal. Finally, the attackers had gathered for a large, concentrated attack. The defenders packed together as the beastly assault tried to push them apart. As the two sides pushed against one another, Edward was struck with an idea.

Tapping Owen and James on the shoulder, the Black Prince shouted over the noise of the melee. "Back up! Let them in!" The soldiers looked incredulously at their prince, but nonetheless obeyed. As Edward had hoped, the barbarians and monsters surged forward into the artificial breach. Before they knew it, the purple clad attackers where surrounded on all sides by their enemies. Packed together almost too tightly to move and under attack on all sides, the small horde was hacked apart in short order.

As her own and the Black Prince's men finished off their attackers, Joan noticed one barbarian rise to his knees. The Maid watched intently as the prince put his sword to the vagabond's throat. Prince Edward of England had a reputation as a vicious butcher in France. Joan wanted to see what sort of man the young royal truly was.

"Why did you and these beasts slaughter those men?" Edward asked sternly

The barbarian chuckled. "That was just a small taste of what's to come, boy. Go on and kill me, The Master will have your guts on a platter soon enough."

"I don't think so, butcher," Edward lowered his sword and gestured to the road, "Go on, run along and tell your master that he'll pay dearly for what he's done."

The barbarian hesitated, looking up with surprise and uncertainty at the prince's mercy. "You 'eard him, get going ya bastard!" James growled, kicking the surviving brute. Other English fighters threw taunts, and a few stones, as the cutthroat ran off into the woods.

With the matter of the attack settled, the surviving French and English awkwardly regarded one another. Some shuffled halfway into fighting stances, but both sides waited to see what their champions would do. With a deep breath, Edward cautiously stepped forward and addressed Joan. "There is safety in numbers, my lady." the young prince said. "For the time being, I'd suggest we travel together. If we encounter English forces, I will ensure your safety and that of your men. Do I have your word you'd do the same for me?"

Joan felt all eyes turn to her as she looked down at the fallen creatures at her feet. _As bad as ze English are, zese things are worse._ The Maid turned to the Black Prince and spoke. "I agree, if we encounter French forces, you and your men will be under my protection. I swear to God."

The reluctant allies formed back into their respective troops and moved back to the road, hoping to find help from one kingdom or the other, Edward and Joan at the head of the mixed column.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3 Knee-jerk Reactions

Edward and Joan rode side by side, their respective troops following behind them and throwing the occasional glare at one another. When they emerged from the woods, arriving back at the ransacked outpost, Edward was relieved to see the men-at-arms he'd left were still alive. Their captain, Walt, approached the prince, not noticing Joan. "My prince! One of the garrison is still alive, but the poor fool's gone mad. He keeps goin' on about monsters."

"I believe him," Edward said with complete sincerity.

For a few moments, the men-at-arms captain stared almost comically at Edward in dumbfounded shock. Finally, Walt noticed the Black Prince's riding companion and the international column at his back. "My prince, what's-"

"Get you men ready to move, Captain," Edward ordered, "We're moving out of here to a more defensible position."

"What position did you have in mind, prince," Joan asked cautiously.

"The main English base in the area is a few miles to the northwest of here." Edward said evenly, "We can be there in a few hours."

"How do you know ze monsters 'aven't taken it?"

"The man I left in charge there, Chandos, wouldn't let himself be overtaken easily." Edward explained, "If you have a better suggestion, I'm open to ideas."

Joan thought of the citadel she and la Hire had overtaken earlier that day, but as tired as her men were, she doubted they'd make it back. _He did give his word._ "I will trust your judgment, Prince Edward." Edward nodded gratefully and the two began to lead their men forward.

#*#*#

Henry Percy kicked a goblin in the chest, flinging the little creature into the air. He then collected a hatchet from the ground and casually threw it into the back of another goblin as it fled. "If the French made some kind of pact with Satan to unleash these creatures on us, I'd say they've been cheated."

"Don't be so sure, Hotspur," Iamarl said as she wiped oily blood from her blades, "These things have done a lot of damage." True to the assassin's word, the surrounding area had many fallen English soldiers mixed in amongst their monstrous attackers.

Percy was about to respond to the assassin's comment when they both heard, and felt, the approach of a rhythmic pounding. The two commanders turned to see an enormous humanoid creature approach. The creature had a mane of tangled hair, the same glowing purple markings seen on other monsters, light green skill, and wielded a massive spike club.

"Archers, make that damn thing into a pincushion!" Henry shouted. A unit of longbow men moved to follow their commander's orders as the giant roared seeing their aggressive movements. In a move that left Henry and Iamarl frozen in shock, the huge creature sat down and curled up tightly into a ball then rolled toward the archers. The flabbergasted archers watched and then frantically raised their bows as the giant rolled toward them at steadily increasing speeds. The beast literally smashed through the soldiers, crushing several to death and scattering the others.

The giant rose back to its feet and began swinging its club at any humans within arm's reach. Meanwhile, Hotspur was weighing his options. Seeing a fallen horse, the knight moved toward the body and shouted to his remaining troops. "Gather together here!"

As swordsmen, spearmen, and archers moved toward their leader, Iamarl regarded Hotspur skeptically, "With that beast's rolling attack, wouldn't it better to spread out?"

"That insane ball move is what I'm counting on," Henry said, before addressing the assembled troops, "Everyone listen closely."

Meanwhile the giant swung its massive club, flinging a knight off his horse and into the air. The beast turned to see a large group of soldiers packed together shouting taunts and insults. Growling at the bold humans, the giant again curled into a ball and rolled toward them. It was just about to crush the puny beings, when they suddenly rushed off to the right and left. The giant was about to growl in frustration when it rolled over a fallen horse, then screeched in surprise and pain. The giant rolled a few more yards before flopping onto its belly, Hotspur's sword was buried in its back.

Henry rose to his feet and approached the literal fallen giant. The huge creature groaned weakly in pain as Henry ripped his weapon free. The monster began to reach for the knight, only for Percy to bury his weapon in the base of it's skull.

Iamarl surveyed the scene as she approached her lover. They and their troops hadn't even seen a single French soldier or mercenary when the barbarians and monsters had descended on them. They'd managed to withstand several waves of attack, but over half their men were dead and their defenses nearly destroyed. "We can't hold these positions any longer, Henry Hotspur," the assassin informed her partner, "We have to pull back to the main base."

Hotspur was reluctant, but ultimately agreed. After loading the wounded into wagons, the battered troops began slowly trekking to the south toward their comrades and hopeful safety.

#*#*#

Marie grunted as she felt the harsh blow to her shield from an executioner's phallicly large sword. She backed away and cautiously circled her opponent. Finally, she stepped in close and lashed out at his side, only for the barbarian to block. The fencing master had anticipated this however, and with a light swing of her forearm, Marie maneuvered her rapier under the massive blade, then back up again. The executioner recoiled in shock as the point of the thin blade slashed him from wrist to elbow. Seeing the barbarian shift on his feet suddenly, Marie knew he was effectively already dead and turned to a group of oncoming goblins as the executioner dropped to his knees.

The lead creature rushed forward and swung its ax at the lady fencer. Marie raised her shield to block the attack, seeing the ax head hook onto her shield a moment too late. Before Marie could react, the shield was yanked off her arm and sent spinning through the air. The lady fencer was far from helpless, however; blocking a second strike with her rapier, Marie simultaneously drew her dagger and drove it into the goblin's liver, then between its ribs, and finally into its neck.

Pressing forward, Marie deflected another goblin's ax with her dagger before driving her rapier through its throat. Pulling her weapon free, Marie sidestepped a skeleton's attack before stabbing her blade into its skull. She then tore the skull free from its body, whereupon the amalgamation of bones literally fell to pieces. Flicking the skull loose, Marie stared down a skull crusher. The fencer raised her rapier as if to slash down on the barbarian and, as she expected, he raised his mace to block. Almost too quickly to see, Marie withdrew the strike, only to thrust back out, driving her rapier through the surprised barbarian's wind pipe. "She's so cool," Marie heard on of her lady fencers, Simon, comment.

Marie's troops had arrived at their first target, only to find the bodies of English soldiers hanging from the castle walls. Replacing the red clad soldiers were barbarians and various living crimes against God. After a long and brutal showdown, Marie's battalion was exhausted and significantly smaller.

The commander wiped the blood from her dagger and her pant leg and sheathed it before accepting her shield back from a lady fencer called Isabel with a grateful smile. Looking around, she could see that the French had finally gained a bit of breathing room, allowing her to think more than a few steps ahead. As the monsters withdrew, Marie's commanders gathered around her for orders. "Whatever is 'appening, we aren't not prepared for it." Marie announced, "We need to get out of 'ere."

At this, the leader of the battalion's scouts stepped forward, "My lady, zere may still be English units in ze area. Perhaps we join forces with zem."

"I will NOT stoop so low as to beg ze English for help." Marie sneered, "We will move south and reunite with Lord le Bon." With her point made, Marie moved her troops south, toward le Bon's last known location.

#*#*#

"Everyone rest up, we're not staying long," du Richmont called to his troops. Ever since the ambush on the road they had been fighting a running battle with the barbarians, among other things. The young knight's head still hurt, as did most of the rest of him, but he managed to hold his own. Arthur wasn't the type to let others fight for him.

Just as the tired company was settling in, the sound of hooves and marching troops could was heard. "God damn sons of bitches," Georges grumbled as he rose to his feet and notched an arrow, "Can't they just give us a few fucking minutes."

"Shut up, Georges," Marc snapped. The remaining troops gathered together to face this newest attack, with spearmen in front, melee fighters right behind and archers in back. Of de Richmont's original force, only Marc's spearmen, George's archers, and You Ji's Chinese crossbowmen remained intact, though all had taken casualties. de Richmont had taken command of a mixture of survivors from all the other units.

The weary fighters watched as their presumed attackers came into view and were surprised, though not necessarily relieved, to see that it was English cavalry, rather than monsters. The knights stopped a few paces from the mercenaries and one wearing a large round hat trotted forward. "Greetings gentlemen," he said as if welcoming tourists, "Welcome to lovely Champagne."

"Is he fucking with us?" Georges could be heard muttering.

"I'm in no mood for games, Englishman," de Richmont sneered, "Say your peace, then either attack us or leave."

"Whoa now, there's no need for that," the knight said with a sarcastic air of hurt innocence, "We English and French are all friends here."

"It's true de Richmont," Arthur turned to the sound of the new voice. To the commander's surprise, Jean de Metz stepped forward from behind the knights. He gestured to the mounted knight and spoke, "It was this one's idea, though du Guesclin was more easily convinced then I expected."

"Great minds do think alike," the knight removed his hat and bowed his head to de Richmont, "John Fastolf, at your service."

Arthur was having a hard time taking this all in, but at the moment he was simply grateful to see men that weren't out for his blood. He returned Fastolf's bow and spoke in kind, "Arthur de Richmont, at yours."

"It's not safe to talk out here, my lord," Fastolf placed his hat back on his head, "Follow us back to our base, your men look like they could use the rest. After you've got some life back in you, we'll explain the situation."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4 Dinner with Friends

"He lifted her high in the air! He sniffed and roared and smelled her there! She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair! He licked the honey from her hair!"

As the English knight finished the verse, the others in his company took up the chorus. "From there to here. From here to there! All black and brown and covered in hair! He smelled that girl on the summer air! The bear, the bear! And the maiden fair!"

Joan glanced over her shoulder at the musical knights, then turned to Edward. "Your men are quite jovial, all zings considered."

"They're just trying to keep their spirits up," Edward explained with a smirk, "The time to worry is when they stop singing."

Joan grinned and regarded the admittedly handsome prince. The French champion spent several seconds trying to reconcile the noble young man with the brutality and violence she'd come to associate with the English, largely from her own experience. "Your men clearly love you, Prince Edward, and you seem like a man of honor. What are you doing in zis war?"

"I'm simply doing my duty," Edward said, his tone even if a bit strained.

"Your duty to sack towns take ozere people's land?" Joan sneered

"Aquitaine has been under English control for as long as I can recall," the prince countered, "and the people of Flanders welcomed our rule, if I remember correctly."

"And the chevauchee your father ordered?" Joan asked, "How many French thanked you for that?"

Edward faltered in answering that. To be sure, he'd had objections to his father's brutal orders, but he still followed them. Before the prince could answer, both riders' attention was grabbed by the flutter of wings and cawing of crows. They turned to see several of the carrion birds pecking at the bodies of French and English soldiers, as well as a few peasants, which had been hung from trees. Joan and Edward shared a look, silently agreeing to focus on their current situation and continued onward.

Noticing fellow English troops headed up the road toward him, Edward spurred Attila, pulling slightly ahead of Joan. "Let me explain the situation. My men wouldn't become hostile if they see me in the lead."

Edward strode forward to see Chandos leading the approaching company. The stern general surveyed Edward and those with him as he approached, cautiously asking, "Are you with these French of your own free will, my prince?"

"Yes, Chandos, and I've given the Lady of Arc and her men my word that they'd be granted safe passage for the time being." the Black Prince explained, "Is our headquarters still standing?"

"Yes, my prince, those...things have proven quite formidable, but we've held." as Chandos spoke, Joan had ridden forward to be just behind Edward, wanting to know the situation. Noticing her, the aging general turned to Joan then back to his prince, only for Edward to silence any objection with a raised hand. Chandos looked back to Joan and spoken neutrally, "We will keep Prince Edward's oath...my lady. Please, the both of you, follow us."

#*#*#

Ilsa and her companions moved briskly down the worn road, growing steadily wearier as they went. Since abandoning the contract, they hadn't seen anyone from either kingdom, or any of their fellow mercenaries. _Da tavern is only a mile or two away_ , Ilsa thought, _Ve should have seen SOMEVON by now._

As if on cue, the troops suddenly heard the thunderous banging of musket fire just around a nearby hill. "You don't think the monsters have gotten their hands on guns, do you?" William asked nervously.

"Either vay, there's someone probably needing our help," Ilsa said turning to address all present, "Let's move! Schnell!"

"We gonna get paid for this one?" Naran muttered, but none the less followed. The three battered mercenary troops advanced around the hill to find Diane's fusiliers arranged into two ranks: one kneeling, one standing, Karen's duel swordsmen and Magnus' sword and shield troops behind them. Arrayed against them were at least three times that number of goblins.

As the small creatures surged forward, Diane calmly addressed her troops. "Rear rank, fire!" The standing fusiliers fired, pelting the goblins with lead and slowing their attack. "Advance!" the men who had just fired, moved forward and knelt, their comrades rising to their feet behind them. "Rear rank, fire!

Diane kept this up, sending one volley of murderous fire after another into the creatures as her troops slowly shuffled toward them, their sword welding comrades keeping pace behind them. The goblins' momentum had all but stopped, those in front dropping from musket fire and being tripped over or crashed into by those behind them. Some goblins desperately raised shields only to find they offered no protection.

Once the mercenaries were within twenty paces, Diane ordered a ceasefire, whereupon Magnus and Karen rushed forward. As the two troops of swordsmen sliced through the decimated goblins, Naran relaxed in this saddle, "It looks like they've got things under control."

"Guys!" Naran and Ilsa followed William's gesture to see more goblins, as well as barbarians and figures in robes, approaching their colleagues from behind.

"Good eye, Villiam," Ilsa said patting the youth on the shoulder. On the battlefield, Diane was enjoying the show when she heard the war cries behind her. The fusilier turned to see the oncoming enemies, only for several of the lead attackers to drop suddenly. Naran and his mongols rode past, pelting their enemies with arrows as Ilsa and William's troops rushed forward and began to slice and stab into them, effectively outflanking the flankers.

Diane nodded gratefully to Naran as he and his men reorganized and turned to her men. "Careful shots, boys! Don't hit our friends!" As the fusiliers began taking potshots into the melee, Diane noticed a concerned Karen approach followed by Magnus. "We're fine, help ze German girl and ze wimp."

Soon all six mercenary troops were having at the monsters when the robed figures, who so far had stayed back from the fight, lunged forward as one, thrusting their staffs at the melee. Fire shot forth from the staffs, indiscriminately engulfing mercenaries and monsters alike.

When Ilsa had heard about newly arrived mercenaries using actual magic, she didn't believe it. The little landsknecht just thought it was some new weapon that ignorant mercenaries couldn't explain otherwise. The screams of people and monsters roasting alive around her made for a convincing argument to the contrary. Shouting as loud as she could to be heard over the screams, Ilsa ordered, "Kill the sorcerers!"

Breaking from the melee, Ilsa and several other mercenaries rushed toward the new threat. Seeing this, the synchronized magic users began to charge up another spell. Thrusting out their staffs again, they sent not fire but some kind of green energy or mana. Ilsa was tackled to the ground as her several of comrades were blasted off their feet around her. The stocky young woman recognized her rescuer as one of her landsknechts, who had taken the full force of the attack for his heroics. _Danke, Otto._ Ilsa pulled herself from under the fallen dopplesoldier's body and found herself virtually alone against the mages.

In Ilsa's experience, killing the leader usually caused an entire unit to breakdown, so she scanned the magic users as she retrieved her zweihander and rose to her feet. Spotting one with slightly more ornate garb then the rest, the stocky girl decided he was her man and rushed forward. She could already see the troop getting ready to unleash yet another magical attack as she lifted her sword up over her head. In desperation, Ilsa spun on her heel, flinging her massive sword at the magician leader. The weapon flew through the air toward the surprised sorcerers, landing a hit on their leader and knocking him and those around him to the ground. Not letting up, Ilsa sprinted the last few yards and retrieved her zweihander just as the leader had risen to his knees. With a powerful thrust, the long blade exploded out the magician's back and sank into the earth behind him, propping the body up as he died.

Around Ilsa, the other magic users staggered back in shock, losing their perfect synchronization as if a spell was broken, which may have been the case. Before any of the sorcerers could retaliate, several of them were cut down by musket fire, followed by Naran and his men riding by and firing numerous arrows. As more and more mercenaries rushed forward, the magic users fled, many being cut down by the vengeful fighters.

With her foot on the boss sorcerer's chest, Ilsa pulled her sword free and turned to see Karen and Magnus approaching. "Thanks for the help," Karen said, "Diane and her men wouldn't have had a chance."

"Just glad to see some friendly faces." Ilsa shrugged, "What do you know about what's happening?"

"Just that there's monsters running amok," Magnus explained, "The buggers attacked the tavern almost as soon as you left, but we were able to fight 'em off."

"After that, we and some of the other mercenaries set up our own little outpost. We were sent out to eliminate any monsters in the area and find anyone who might need help." Karen continued, then smiled, "C'mon, we should get back. You'll never guess who's in charge."

#*#*#

Henry Percy was relieved to see the English flag still flying over the castle in northeastern Normandy. He and Iamarl lead their weary troops toward the fortress, stopping at an impromptu checkpoint guarded by swordsmen and archers. "Halt," the commander said cautiously, "identify yourself, sir."

"Sir Henry Percy," Hotspur impatiently replied, "You can see we're English, now step aside, we have wounded men."

When the guards did as Henry commanded, the knight and his men immediately rushed down the road. "Sir Percy, wait!" the commander shouted, "You should know..."

Percy paid the man no heed and moved his troops into the castle proper. All around, he could see nervous soldiers moving around, manning guard points, helping wounded or constructing defenses. After seeing to their wounded, Henry and Iamarl led their able-bodied men into the courtyard. Henry turned to the assassin when he noticed a flash of blue.

Seated near the center of the courtyard, looking just slightly uncomfortable, were a dozen French soldiers, chatting and under no guard or restraint at all. His combat reflexes kicking in, Henry drew his sword and turned to his men, "Seize them!" he shouted gesturing to the French. The surprised Frenchmen barely had time to react before they were surrounded by English blades. Around the scene, other English soldiers watched in surprise, and some amusement. Noticing the castle's commander approach, Hotspur climbed down off his horse and angrily approached the man. "What the hell is wrong with you lot? Why are these prisoners running loose!?"

The commander faltered nervously, Hotspur's fiery temper and tendency to lash out at allies were infamous. Finally, the commander steeled himself and answered, "...They're not prisoners, sir."

#*#*#

Several floors above the courtyard, Joan sat on the bed of the room she'd been provided, her armor and weapons neatly arranged on a nearby table. Her accommodations were considerably more comfortable then the last time she'd been in English care. Just the thought of her capture sent a shiver down the young champion's back, helped somewhat when she remembered Ilsa stepping into her cell and reassuringly offering a hand. Thinking of the landsknecht reminded Joan that virtually all of her friends and companions were now unaccounted for. Moving to the window, Joan crossed herself, knelt on the hard stone floor, folded her hands together and looked up toward the slowly darkening sky, begging God to protect those close to her in prayer.

Just as the Maid finished, there was a knock at her door. Joan glanced wearily at her sword, then moved to answer the door unarmed. Standing in the hall was a young servant, called Wot. "Milady," the youth greeted with a formal bow, "His 'ighness, Prince Edward sends word to invite you to dine with him and some of his commanders. I'm to escort you."

Joan raised an eyebrow at the servant's words. Rationally, it made sense; she was there as a guest under the protection of a member of the Royal Family. It was proper, even required, to show her such courtesy. Nevertheless, Joan had a feeling she now knew how Daniel felt when he was thrown into the lion's den. _Daniel survived ze lion's den_ Joan reminded herself. "Very well," she stepped out of her room, "Please lead ze way."

The trip was thankfully short, but still involved more than a few glares from English guards. "God, it would be so easy." one particularly brazen soldier muttered. Joan was glad she and Wot arrived at the dining hall before she had much time to wonder what 'it' meant. As the servant opened the door for Joan and stepped aside with a bow, Joan entered to find Edward, now sans his trademark armor, speaking to a young girl in a midriff exposing green shirt and matching short skirt.

Noticing Joan, Edward beckoned her over, "Glad to see you accepted my invitation," he said diplomatically, stepping halfway between the two girls, the Black Prince made the necessary introduction. "Joan of Arc, this is Branwyn of the Bow."

"We actually met once before," Branwyn said as she shook Joan's hand, "In battle near Aquitaine, I was the one what shot the flower off yer head."

"...I'm glad we're meeting now under more amicable circumstances." Joan replied

"Branwyn is a rare case were her boasting almost meets her actual talents," Edward patted the Welsh girl on the shoulder as he spoke, "I believe you remember Chandos?" the stern general, also dressed more casually nodded cordially to Joan as Edward gestured to one of a handful of servants waiting attentively near another doorway. "Can I order you something to drink, Joan? We mostly have beer and ale, but there's also some fine wine."

"Do you 'ave anything zat isn't alcoholic?" at the surprised looks from Edward and Branwyn, Joan became slightly indignant, "What? A French girl zat doesn't like wine isn't zat strange is it? You must have tea or somezing." At Joan's last comment, Edward raised an eyebrow, causing Joan to blush upon realizing her slip up.

Branwyn clapped her hands and announced, "Cider it is!"

The mood began to lighten somewhat as four mugs of cider were poured and the warriors sat down together. Just as Joan was starting to feel secure, shouting was heard from down the hall. "Damn it, Henry Percy, can we talk about this for two seconds!?"

The door burst open and an irate, long haired knight stormed in, followed by a flustered Middle Eastern woman. Spotting Edward, he stormed toward the prince shouting "Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

Everyone at the table rose to their feet as Henry rushed up to Edward, throwing Joan a glare on the way. The unfazed Black Prince stood his ground as Henry approached, looking him in eye and speaking. "Henry Percy, what seems to be the trouble?"

"You let our enemies into our camp!" Percy seethed, stabbing a finger at Joan, "What the hell are you thinking?!"

"You're talking to a prince, Sir Percy," Chandos admonished, "Show respect."

"It's alright, Chandos," Edward said, he turned back to Hotspur and continued, "Henry, you're one of my finest commanders and I respect that you speak your mind." Suddenly, Edward seized Henry by the collar and shoved the surprised knight back toward the wall. When Henry's back made contact with the stone bricks, the prince swept his right leg out from under him. Edward kept his grip on Hotspur's collar as the knight fell and raised his right fist as if to strike his downed friend. He looked down on Percy and calmly said, "But I will not be shouted at like that."

Edward released his friend and offered his hand. The chastised knight hesitated for a moment, then allowed his prince to help him to his feet. The Black Prince looked to the assassin and gestured to the table, "Iamarl, would you and Henry join us for dinner?"

Iamarl sighed, then nodded her head cordially, "We would delighted, my prince."

Joan, Edward, Chandos, and Branwyn returned to their seats while Iamarl and Henry took the remaining empty ones, which placed Hotspur directly across from Joan. The knight sensed the slight tension still hanging in the air, and was self-aware enough to know it centered on him. Glancing across the table he could see the Maid/Witch of Orleans flash a polite smile before turning to Branwyn. Unexpectedly, memories of his knighting came to Henry's mind. "Be without fear in the presence of your enemies." His mentor had solemnly recited. _Imagine this isn't exactly what you had in mind, Master._

Seeing Hotspur smirk caused his tablemates to exchange a few confused looks. Glancing toward Edward, Joan smiled and asked, "So, what will we be having, Your Highness."

"Ground up French babies with Scottish blood for sauce." Hotspur quipped.

Branwyn snickered, and around the table, everyone seemed to genuinely relax. Henry would still have words with Edward later, but for the time being, he'd shown that he would behave. Food was brought out for the gathered warriors. It was a little greasier then Joan was used to, but she knew better then to insult her hosts.

All but Iamarl bowed their heads, (the assassin followed the Old Persian gods) and Edward led the table in grace. "Lord, we thank you for your protection on the battlefield and for the bounty we are about to partake. And we ask that, in light of these new enemies, that you bestow your blessing on the warriors of England..." the prince cracked an eye open, glancing at Joan, "and all humanity. Amen."

"Amen." Everyone chorused and the meal began.

#*#*#

Arthur followed Fastolf and Jean, keeping a cautious eye on the Englishman until they arrived at a castle flying both the French and English flags. As they entered, Arthur could see peasants looking hopefully at the newly arrived warriors, as well as formerly warring soldiers from England and France milling about, not mixing but not hostile either. The gates were closed and barred behind the troops and Arthur and You Ji were led into the keep while the mercenaries and their men settled down to rest.

The newcomers were lead into a war room where Arthur recognized du Guesclin leaning over a map with a bulky English man. Seeing them approach, du Guesclin smiled in greeting, "Arthur de Richemont! I'm glad to see you alive and well!" he tightly hugged his compatriot, causing a pained grown from the blonde young man. "Well, alive at least, and zat is something to be thankful for!"

du Guesclin released de Richemont who then turned to the large Englishman. To Arthur's relief, he extended his hand in greeting, "John Talbot, at your service, Lord de Richemont. Have a seat, you seem like you could use it."

Arthur sank into an empty chair near the table, You Ji standing supportively behind him, and felt a wave of relief to be off his feet. As the exhaustion and pain he'd been pushing to back of his mind came surging forth, the young lord glanced at the map laid out on the table and then up at the four men across from him. "What. Ze hell. Is going on?"

Fastolf smirked at the exasperated commander and spoke. "Well, Lord de Richemont, things have taken a most unexpected turn." he gestured to himself and Talbot, then du Guesclin and Jean, "We were all set to begin killing one another, you know, business as usual, when suddenly we were accosted by monsters."

Arthur stared blankly at the facetious Englishman. "It's true, de Richemont," du Guesclin explained, "Ze creatures and zeir barbarian allies set on us like locusts. We did all we could to protect ze common people, but zere were too many of zem. Things were looking bad when Fastolf came riding up as if for tea and offered an alliance."

"Which he did without informing me," Talbot muttered.

du Guesclin excitedly leaned forward against the table. "Zis is wonderful, de Richemont. Before, all of us together could only hold our ground, maybe launch a skirmish or two. But now, with you and your men, we can strike back!"

Arthur looked to each of the four men in turn, seeing looks of determination and hope from all, except Fastolf who simply looked amused. The young man knew You Ji would support any course of action he took. Noticing a bottle of ale sitting on the table, the exhausting and parched lord seized the bottle and downed the entire contents. He set it back down and looked to his new comrades. "Let's do it."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5 The Next Morning

Just as the sun began to set, Ilsa sighed in relief upon seeing the mercenary tavern finally come into view. The familiar building now had several impromptu defenses built up around it. Wagons had been turned on their side to act as road blocks and rickety walls had been built using barrels and tables. Mercenaries were scattered all around, either manning the hastily built defenses or working to improve them. Ilsa noticed Hal and Richard Beauchamp overseeing the sell swords.

Seeing the approaching company, Hal smiled and moved to greet them. _Hal's in charge?_ Ilsa thought, _Nah, can't be._ The rambunctious mercenary waved to Magnus in greeting and spoke. "Glad you lot were able to find someone useful, the boss will be happy to see that. Head on inside, he'll want a report."

Ilsa, William, and Naran allowed their respective men to rest and followed Magnus, Diane, and Karen into the building. A knowing smile spread across Ilsa's face when she saw the one-eyed tavern keeper standing at the bar looking over a map. His familiar blue and red shirt was replaced by a faded yellow tunic, with chainmail underneath and a sword lying close at hand. "Ah, it is good to see you have returned to us unharmed." The man greeted, sounding just as sincere as always.

"I knew you vere da mercenary general from da stories," Ilsa said, climbing up on a stool to better see the tavern keeper/mercenary general's map.

The eye patch wearing man chuckled, "I was hoping to live out my days quietly; serving drinks and giving advice. But recent events have compelled me to come out of retirement."

"If you don't mind, sir," Karen spoke up, "I believe Magnus can handle the report, I'm going to check Diane for any injuries." The English mercenary hooked her arm around her lover's waist and led the blonde fusilier toward the stairs.

Magnus shook his head and stepped forward, "We moved down the road to Ile-de-France, as you ordered, but before we got more than a few miles we ran into monsters," the young Irishman said professionally, "Ilsa and her lot showed up just as things were about to get bad. Also, they had magic users with 'em."

"Someone want to tell me what the alchemist is doing?" At Naran's question, everyone followed the young Mongol's gaze to a corner of the tavern. Christine de Pizan stood over one of the tavern's tables examining the bodies of dead goblins. The arrogant Italian beauty seemed utterly engrossed in her work, not noticing the eyes on her at all as she carefully dissected the fallen creatures and made careful notes on her findings. William noticed the bones of a skeleton warrior stacked neatly next to Christine's table.

"de Pizan has taken a keen interest in the creatures that attacked us," The mercenary general explained, "Hopefully, she can uncover ways to fight them, or other information that would prove useful." The one eyed man turned back to Magnus, "Speaking of which, I think she'd be interested to hear what sort of magic these monsters wielded."

As Magnus excused himself to speak with Christine, Ilsa leaned over the bar, looking over the mercenary general's map. The tavern was marked with yellow, while several spots in the surrounding area were colored purple. From the looks of things, the monsters were quickly taking control of the countryside. "Doesn't look good does it?"

The young landsknecht looked up at the aging mercenary, who stepped back to address all three commanders. "After the monsters attacked the tavern, many of the mercenaries fled, off to save their own skin, but others stayed. I've been trying to organize them into something that resembles an army, but I need all the help I can get. My hope is to establish a safe haven here, someplace refugees can come to escape these creatures." He paused to let his appeal sink in, "Understand that this is not a contract, there is no reward waiting after the fighting is over. We're doing this to protect the common people."

Ilsa looked back over the map, noticing several positions that just yesterday had been red or blue were now purple, and the one blotch of yellow, apparently the mercenary general's chosen color. The German girl thought back to several moments when Joan, the Black Prince, or someone else would ask her to permanently sign on with one side or the other. She would always politely turn them down. "I'm not a hero." she'd say. _Guess I vas wrong._ Ilsa turned to the one eyed man. "I'll do it."

The mercenary general nodded approvingly, then turned to the two young men standing behind her. "Me too," William said, though his confidence quickly waded, "I'll uh...try not to slow you guys down."

Naran sighed in resignation, not unlike a prisoner that had just been condemned. "Well, I can't leave if William's staying." The young Mongol shrugged. "Everyone's gotta die sometime, might as well do something good before my end."

#*#*#

The next morning, Joan sighed as she awoke, rising into a sitting position and stretching her arms before her morning prayers. The French heroine knelt and rested her elbows on the bed, her forehead rested on her folded hands, and silently thanked the heavens for her good health and safety in light of what she'd seen the day before, and prayed for the safety of those close to her.

With a closing amen, Joan rose to her feet and it was at that moment that she noticed the English flag outside her window. For a brief second, Joan was back in Rouen, locked in a cage as the English wondered if they should hang her or burn her at the stake, the king she had served so fervently content to let it happen so he could have a martyr to avenge.

Joan shook the memories from her head. _You're safe 'ere._ she told herself, _You're a guest of ze prince, you can leave zis room whenever you like._ As if to prove this to herself, Joan threw on her outfit, again sans the armor, placed her trademark flower in her hair and walked out the door. Not knowing the castle or where she intended to go, the Maid simply wondered the halls, nodding cordially to guards and servants that she passed. Just as Joan was beginning to relax, and even feel a bit silly for her minor panic attack, she heard the sound of violent coughing from around a corner.

Looking around the bend, Joan was surprised to find Prince Edward supporting himself against the wall, taking deep breaths occasionally interrupted by coughs. "Are you alright, your majesty?" He may have technically still been her enemy, but Edward was a prince and Joan would so him the proper decorum.

Edward pushed himself off the wall as he turned to his guest. With the morning light at her back, Joan looked almost angelic to Edward's slightly addled eyes. Shacking such thoughts from his mind, the prince cleared his throat, looking like an embarrassing secret had been found out as he stood just a bit shakily. "Yes, I'm fine." he said with a nod.

"You don't seem fine," the unconvinced French girl said.

In truth, Edward felt awful; he'd had to force himself to eat for days, which kept up appearances but left him feeling like he was about to vomit and made sleep difficult. "Just, I'm..." the prince wearily rubbed his eyes, finding it hard to think of a convincing lie. Finally, he simply gave up. "Please don't tell anyone about this. My men...they have an image of me. The great and noble prince that will lead England to greatness. They need that now more then ever."

After a few silent moments, Joan smiled and gave the prince a reassuring nod. "I understand, Prince Edward. When everyone seems to be watching you, counting on you to be zeir savior..." Joan remembered breaking down when she thought no one was looking, "ze pressure can be a bit overwhelming."

Edward smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Joan."

"Excuse me, my prince!" Iamarl's voice echoed down the hall. Joan looked around Edward as he turned around to acknowledge the assassin. "There's a situation outside. Actually, I think it would be best if you both came."

#*#*#

Meanwhile, Ilsa was surprised at just how good it felt to be waking up in her bed at the tavern. Stretching until she heard a satisfying pop, the stocky girl made her way into the hall and down the stairs. She wondered if it would be appropriate to give the barkeep turned commander her breakfast order, though it became irrelevant when she noticed several bowls of oatmeal laid out on the bar.

Taking a bowl, Ilsa noticed Karen and Diane sitting at a table, thankfully far from Christine's impromptu laboratory, and moved to sit opposite the girls, good naturally muttering "Guten Morgen.*" with a nod.

*Good Morning

"Morning, Ilsa." Karen greeted with a smile, then elbowed Diane in the side when the blonde didn't say anything.

"Good morning, Ilsa," Diane said, shooting Karen a glare, "So, you joining up, or packing up as soon as you've got some food in you?"

"Meine boys und I are staying," Ilsa said as she took a bite. The landsknecht commander regarded the two women for a moment, "You know, Magnus alvays seemed like a hero type und Hal just vants to fight, but I never thought I'd see you two going pro bono."

"Well a bunch of damn monsters running around is a special case, isn't it?" Diane said with a shrug.

"Besides," Karen added, "if the monsters kill everyone, there wouldn't be anyone left to pay us in the future." The redhead tapped a finger against her temple. Ilsa shrugged in acknowledgement of the her logic.

The three girls continued to eat and chat as a handful of other mercenaries filed down the stairs, Magnus and Hal joining them at the table. Just as Christine began to dive back into her research, the mercenary general approach the five of them. "Shakti and her men never came back yesterday. I need someone to head out to the west and find out what happened."

"I'll go." Magnus said quickly

"Whose Shakti?" Ilsa asked

"A creepy witch who only comes out at night," Hal explained, "Everyone calls her 'The Destroyer'."

"Wouldn't be surprise if she was with ze monsters like ze barbarians." Diane muttered.

"That's a load of crap," Magnus said as he rose from his set to collect his equipment.

"Are any of the rest of you willing to go?" the mercenary general asked.

Ilsa glanced around the table and noticed no one seemed eager to step up. Sighing, the little dopplesoldier set her spoon down and rose from her chair. "I'll go vith you, Magnus."

As she and the young Irish mercenary moved toward their lockers, Ilsa gently but firmly grabbed William by the arm and dragged him along. "C'mon, Villiam," she said cheerfully, "Ve're going to rescue a lady dey call, 'Da Destroyer'."

"We are?" was the boy's uncertain response.

"Also," Christine called, lightly dashing up to the mercenaries, "If you could catch a live goblin for my experiments, it would greatly help in my research. And I would reward you, of course."

Magnus and Ilsa shared a long look as they mulled over the alchemist's offer. After some thought, Ilsa shrugged in a 'sure, why not?' kind of way and Magnus turned to the Italian beauty. "If it's at all possible, we'll try and get you your goblin."

Ilsa patted William on the shoulder and continued to drag him toward the weapons rack.

#*#*#

de Rais road at the head of his knights, la Hire marching at his side, and most of their remaining troops behind them. The French host was marching toward the castle believed to be the English headquarters in what little of Normandy they still controlled. As they approached the castle wall, a single arrow flew down toward them, landing less than a yard in front of de Rais and startling his horse.

"That's quite close enough," a girl on the wall called, "we can hear you frogs from there."

"Frogs!?" la Hire indignantly yelled back, "You're the one in all green!"

"Enough!" a serious Englishmen in an eye patch sternly said, "Why have you come here, Frenchmen?"

de Rais sat up straight on his horse and addressed the one eyed man. "Our scouts reported French troops bearing ze banner of Joan of Arc being led inside zis castle. Is ze Maid of Orleans 'ere?"

"She is," Chandos confirmed, "Prince Edward brought the girl and her troops in yesterday. She's been treated well, as would any guest of the Royal Family."

"Bullshit!" la Hire shouted

"la Hire."

"Release Joan or we'll smash our way in!"

"la Hire!" When the big man finally looked at him, de Rais fixed him with a stern look. The long haired knight worried that the face obscuring collar of his padded coat would hurt the effect, but thankfully the big man seemed to get the message. Turning back to Chandos on the wall, de Rais spoke diplomatically. "With zese beasts running loose, I doubt either of us can afford to fight each ozere. Release the Maid, and we'll go in peace."

On the wall, Joan and Edward had finally joined the scene. Joan looked out over the field and quickly spotted her two friends at the head of the French forces. "Thank ze Lord," she muttered. Leaning over the side of the wall, Joan waved her hand and called out, "la Hire! de Rais!" When the two men looked up at her in recognition and surprise, Joan continued, "What Chandos says is true, Prince Edward and his men have treated my well."

Seeing the literal army of French troops in front of him visibly relax at the girl's words, Edward breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Joan. "Once you and your men have gathered your belongings, I will have my men open the gates."

Hearing this, Joan turned to regard the prince then glanced back out at de Rais and la Hire's men. The force was considerably smaller then she remembered. At the same time, Joan had clearly seen that the English Army had been badly worn down as well. Joan stepped back from the wall to address Edward directly and said "I 'ave a better idea."


	7. Chapter 7

Interlude; Marie's Odyssey

Author's Note: This takes place at the same time as the last chapter

"'ave zese creatures made any attempt to communicate?" Philippe le Bon asked his assembled commanders, "Demands for surrender, taunts, anything?"

"No, my lord," a tired knight called Francois answered, "Zey seem to simply attack anyone zey see, French or English."

Leaning against the table strewn with freshly redrawn battle maps, le Bon let out a weary sigh. Whatever these creatures were, it was increasingly clear there was no reasoning with them. Looking back up at his assembled officers, the blonde lord straitened himself out, and continued. "What about Marie? Do we 'ave any information on 'er whereabouts?" _God, please don't let 'er be dead._

"Sorry, Lord le Bon, we've not 'eard anything from or about Marie." a battered swordsman reported. "Several companies 'ave filtered back in since ze monsters attacked, my lord. She may yet make it back."

Before le Bon could respond, a tired young soldier entered the room and approached the meeting table. "Forgive me, milord, but I've been sent from Paris with an urgent mezzage." The boy stood silently for several moments, until le Bon realized he was awaiting permission to continue. le Bon gave him an annoyed gesture and the messenger elaborated. "You and all ozere commanders in service to France are to withdraw to Paris immediately. Ze full might of ze French Army is needed to protect ze King."

A wave of shock and surprise swept through le Bon and his officers. The man himself was silent, but his men were more verbal. "Zat's madness!"

"It's ze King's order, we must obey."

"And leave Marie and ze rest?!"

"What about ze common people, we just let zem be killed?"

"I don't want to die out 'ere for some peasants!"

"Enough!" le Bon shouted, "We're not going anywhere. We fight for France, not its king." le Bon's men stared in surprise at the man's uncharacteristic so of strength. No one bothered raise an objection and the meeting continued.

#*#*#

Marie and her troops headed due south, toward le Bon's last known base of operations. There were many unknown factors, but Marie was confident her comrades would still be there. The tired French troops and those mercenaries that hadn't deserted had been traveling for hours. Knowing there was no point in running her soldiers until they collapsed, the lady fencer decided it was time for a short rest. The blue clad troops sank down off their feet, drinking from water skins, some taking bites of bread or dried meat. There was little to no talk or chatter.

Left to her own thoughts, Marie's thoughts drifted to le Bon. Marie hoped Philippe was safe. _He 'as to be, I can't loose ze man I love_ , Marie did a mental double take at the unexpected thought. After a few moments, Marie admitted the fact to herself with a sigh; she was in love le Bon. _He's alive, and we'll 'elp rid France of ze beasts together_ , the French commander resolved to herself, _and zese feelings...we'll see what 'appens._ Just as Marie was about to order the battalion to move out, someone shouted. "Look! Down ze road!"

All eyes turned in the direction they'd been traveling to see dozens of goblins and a handful of barbarians rushing up toward them. Jumping to her feet, shield and rapier in hand, Marie shouted orders to her troops, "Form up! Lock shields and keep zem at arm's length! Archers, fire at will!"

As the goblins rushed forward, Marie positioned her rapier so that it would be obscured by her shield. When one of the small monstrosities charged at her, the fencer struck at him from the side, but he managed to block her. Marie stabbed at the goblin from the side again, and was blocked again. A sly smirk half forming on her face, Marie lowered her shield and stabbed from the above this time and sure enough the goblin mistakenly went to block in the wrong direction, allowing her to sink her blade into the surprised creature's chest.

After repeating the trick, Marie glanced to her left and right to see the battle going almost wholly for her side. It was then that a shadow passed over the commander. She blocked and countered an opportunistic goblin's strike when a shadow passed over her. Marie reflexively glanced up and froze in shock. Hovering above the French troops were several creatures the young officer soon recognized as griffons.

Marie's mother was a duchess, her father a member of the French King's court, and as such she'd been raised in polite society to be a proper lady. Throughout her teenage years, she would often spend half her day learning etiquette, the other half with her fencing trainer, and she was a star pupil in both fields. Nevertheless, as beasts from stories her nanny scared her with as a child descended on Marie and her men, the lady fencer couldn't help making her governess role in the old crone's grave. "Oh, fuck me!"

The griffons smashed into the ground like meteors, crushing men under their talons and claws. As the flying beasts leapt back into the air, some carrying screaming soldiers and mercenaries, the formation shattered allowing the goblins and barbarians to rush forward and hack soldiers apart.

"Run for it!" Marie shouted, "We 'ave to get out of 'ere!" It was a somewhat redundant order as many of her troops where already fleeing. Still her lady fencers and a few other troops rallied around her and they were able to hack and slash their way out of the bloodbath with some semblance of order.

The greatly reduced force fled, eventually losing sight of their attackers, but knowing they'd be pursued. All of their mercenaries were now gone, and they'd also lost their mounted units. Only Marie's lady fencers, two troops of archers, and several men-at-arms and swordsmen remained. Panting heavily, Marie could already hear the monsters moved up behind them. Looking down the road, she could see a single troop of goblins emerging from a patch of forest and a desperate plan began to take form.

#*#*#

Hefting his massive sword over his shoulder, Redfang marched along with his fellow executioners, his friend Spinebreaker walking at his side. The barbarians had just had a good time chopping up the French, but now came the tedious task of tracking down the survivors. Along with them were two troops of goblins and some of the griffons that had been their trump card. The rest of their battalion had gone off in different directions.

"Hope we find somethin' soon," Redfang gripped, "Damn birds are lookin' hungry."

"Eh, they'll chow down on the goblins before they get to us." Spinebreaker said with a shrug. "Hey, check it out!"

Out in front of the monsters, several bodies were laid out across the road, a mixture of goblins and French. It seemed they'd stumbled on the aftermath of a fight. Disappointed that there'd be no more bloodshed, the barbarians moved forward to survey the scene.

Redfang's shoulders slumped when he recognized one of the bodies as the fierce dark haired woman who'd led the French in the battle. "That's a damn shame, I wanted to rape this one."

"I bet she's still warm," Spinebreaker said stepping up next to his friend, "ya probably still could."

"Yeah, but that's not as much fu-AAAAAAAHHH!" Unable to contain her disgust any longer, Marie jumped up into a sitting position and drove her rapier up through Redfang's crotch and into his intestines. Before Spinebreaker could react beyond a shocked flinch, she bashed the back of his knee with her shield, causing him to drop to his knees. She pulled her blade out of Redfang and drove it through the other barbarian's neck.

All around the confused barbarians and monsters, supposedly dead French soldiers leapt to their feet and attacked them. At the same time, more soldiers in blue rushed out of the trees and bushes on either side of the road. The griffins tried to take to the air, only to be peppered with arrows from Marie's archers just as the creatures cleared the human's heads. Those that were hit crashed back to earth and where quickly set upon by vengeful soldiers. The only two that made it into the air flew off, abandoning their ground bound comrades.

Marie bashed a goblin with the edge of her shield, causing his head to twist to the side with a wet crunching sound, before driving her rapier through an executioner's eye and out the back of his head. She took a deep breath to calm herself and looked over the scene. The fencer was pleased to see the end of the previous battle being reenacted with roles reversed. One panicked barbarian tossed his sword aside and tried to flee into the woods, toward the archers. He fell with three arrows in his chest, right beside the last two who'd made that mistake.

"Form up!" Marie called when the action had died down, "We don't 'ave much farther to go."

"Commander!" one of the lady fencers called. She gestured to a moaning, writhing barbarian that Marie recognized as Redfang.

"Let him bleed out," Marie sneered, "Come, we 'ave to move."

#*#*#

"Lord le Bon! Marie has returned!" Philippe le Bon looked up from the map he'd been staring at for nearly an hour and rushed toward the window almost in disbelief. True to the messenger's word, French troops with Marie's personal banner were making their way through the fortress's gates. He quickly spotted the familiar dark haired beauty at the head of the column.

In short order, a tired and disheveled Marie made her way into le Bon's war room and knelt before her lord. "Rise, Marie, please rise," le Bon said with a hand wave. He sighed as Marie quietly stood. "I'm sorry you and your men had to go through that alone. If I'd been stronger-"

Before he could deprecate himself further, Marie had seized le Bon by the shoulders and silenced the blonde man with a kiss. Breaking the kiss, she took a step back without letting go and said "You're strong enough, Philippe."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 6 The Newt's Judgment

Henry Hotspur awoke feeling rested and calm, his attempt to talk things out further with the prince the night before having been intercepted by Iamarl. "You need to relieve some pressure." the assassin had said. Hotspur wasn't above admitting that she'd been right, or that he very much approved of her methods. He was a bit disappointed to find that he was alone in his bed, but didn't begrudge Iamarl. His lover was nothing if not dutiful.

The young knight sighed and pulled himself out of bed to his feet, pulling his cloths back on and then tying on his sword belt. Henry then made his way into the hall intent on making his way to the dining hall for breakfast. He'd only gone a few steps when he noticed several archers rush by. "What's going on?" the concerned knight called after them.

"There's a large French host comin' toward the castle, sir." One archer stopped just long enough to reply before following after his friends. Henry briefly wondered if he had time to dawn his armor, but decided against it and followed after the archers.

Hotspur moved quickly through the halls until finally making his way onto the battlements. Upon learning the French were mainly gathering at the main gate, he nevertheless made sure that defenses elsewhere were adequate and moved down to the courtyard to cut across to main gate. He was halfway there when the gate opened and a contingent of French troops cautiously marched in.

As the French commanders entered, Henry noticed the prince and Chandos approach, with Joan in tow. Before Henry could speak, Chandos stepped forward and said "It was the girl's idea."

Henry watched Joan rush up to the other French leaders, apparently good friends, and was lifted off her feet in an affectionate embrace by the big polesword commander. "So I see," The knight remarked. "We're allied to the French now?"

"We need reinforcements, Percy," Edward reasoned, "We've lost more men in the last few days then in the two months before that. Teaming with the French gets us the troops we need...awkward though the arrangement may be."

Hotspur shifted on his feet, everything the prince and Chandos were saying made sense, but the young knight disliked the idea of teaming with a kingdom his homeland had been at war with since before his father had been born. "...I'll trust your judgment, my prince...but I don't like this."

Edward nodded gratefully, "That's all I can ask."

#*#*#

Ilsa marched beside Magnus at the head of his swordsmen, her landsknechts and William's spearmen behind them. The German girl had been getting as much information as she could from the young Irishman as they marched. Magnus shared that she'd have to club skeletons rather than trying to stab them, and what other tidbits he'd learned. Ilsa in turn, told him about the trick she'd used against the Cyclops.

Finding they'd run out of things to talk about, Ilsa conversationally asked, "Vat's your homeland like, Magnus?"

"Ireland? Oh, it's beautiful, The Emerald Isle we call it. I grew up in a little village near Dublin." Magnus was silent for a while, a nostalgic look crossing his face, "And fine people too, no better tribe ever lived then the Irish." Ilsa chuckled "It's true, if God hadn't invented whiskey, the Irish would rule the world."

"Preist Gott in seiner Weisheit."* Ilsa quipped

*Praise God in his wisdom

"How bout you, Ilsa?" Magnus said turning to her, "What's your native land like?"

"Hamburg is a great city, bigger den any city in France." Ilsa shrugged, "Except maybe Paris. Very well off und modern."

"A city girl? Never would of guessed." the mercenary captains shared a chuckle. Looking back to Ilsa, Magnus's eyes settled on her massive zweihander "How are you able to carry that thing? Much less swing it around."

"Mein father taught me." Magnus noticed a mixed nostalgic and troubled look come over Ilsa's face at the mention of her father, but before he could comment they both noticed a battered man coming down the road.

The refugee froze upon seeing the mercenaries and nervously backpedaled away from them. "Don't 'urt me!"

Ilsa and Magnus exchanged confused looks. Turning back to the man, Magnus began to speak. "We're not gonna-"

"'ere! 'ere's my money!" the black eyed refugee tossed a small bag at the mercenaries' feet, "Just take it! Take it and leave me alone!"

One of the Irish swordsmen shrugged and stepped forward to collect the bag of denier, only to be slapped on the shoulder by Magnus. After fixing his man with a stern glare, he turned back to the worried refugee. "Sir, we're not gonna hurt you and we don't want to take your gold."

The refugee looked at them with confusion and disbelief. "Ze group I was with, we were attacked by a troop of mercenaries. Zey killed some of us, took what zey could get zier 'ands on."

"Dat's not us," Ilsa said stepping up beside Magnus, "Ve set up a safe place for refugees, just follow da road und you'll find it."

"And tell the commander your story." Magnus added, "He should know some mercenary troops have turned bandit."

The nervous man hesitated for a few moments, then finally nodded his head. He stepped to the side of the road to allow the mercenaries to pass, a few of them throwing reassuring looks his way. It was William who briefly stopped to return the man's money.

The mercenaries continued from there, some muttering about the idea of their fellows turning to banditry. Ilsa was happy to hear most of them were disgusted, but there were still more then she'd of liked who were open to the idea. After several uneventful minutes they came upon a small village, with several people gathered on the outskirts. The closer they got the better they could hear the villagers' crazed shouting.

Just when the fighters could clearly make out shouts of "Burn 'er!" and "Witch!", Ilsa noticed a beautiful Indian woman being dragged along by the mob. "Oh hell, that's Shakti!" Magnus rushed forward as he spoke.

Ilsa followed, noticing several Rajput warriors being restrained by the villagers, and soon she and her comrades found themselves facing down an angry mob. With too much noise to hear anything, the small dopplesoldier turned to Magnus and shouted, "Bang your sword against your shield!"

Magnus did as Ilsa commanded, several of his men following suit, and managed to make enough noise to get the crowd's attention. Magnus nodded to Ilsa and took a step toward the villagers. "What the hell do you people think you're doing?!"

One of the villagers stabbed a damning finger at Shakti and said "Zis woman is a witch! She's in league with ze beasts zat attacked us!"

"I suppose she turned you into a newt as well," Magnus shot back.

"We're gonna give ze witch what she deserves!" a woman in the crowd shouted. This was followed by several shouts of agreement.

"Aw, guys." William timidly said, but was silenced by a gesture from Magnus.

"Let Shakti and her men go." the young Irishman ordered.

"Or what?" the newt shot back, "You'll attack us, like ze monsters?"

"It's alright, Magnus," Shakti spoke for the first time, "If I die here, it's simply my time to fulfill the cycle of life and death."

"Not helping!" Magnus grumbled.

"Guys," William spoke up again.

"Not now, Villiam!" Ilsa said sternly, "Vhat even makes you think she's a vitch?"

"MONSTERS!" William finally shouted. Everyone present turned to west, following William's pointing arm and, sure enough, a force of goblins and skeletons were rushing toward the village. (One of the landsknechts then smacked William upside the head for not speaking up sooner.)

Magnus began to move, but was held back by Ilsa, "Let Shakti go!" she ordered.

"What?" the newt asked in surprise.

"Let Shakti go or ve'll let da monsters do vhat dey vant to you," Ilsa glanced at the approaching monsters and back at the newt, "Ve don't have much time."

The newt hesitated for a few moments before frantically drawing a small knife from his belt and cutting the Indian mercenary's bonds. "Zere, now kill zose beasts, please!"

The mercenaries rushed to intercept the monsters, including Shakti's company to Ilsa's surprise. As she rushed up to face a skeleton warrior, the German girl remembered what Magnus had told her and flipped her zweihander around to hold it by the blade. She bashed the first skeleton with a mighty swing, shattering its skull. She used her weapon's cross guard to hook another skeleton's weapon and yank it forward. The skeleton stumbled after its halbert and fell face down, whereupon Ilsa brought the pummel of her weapon down on the base of its skull. As a third skeleton rushed at her, Ilsa was struck with an idea; keeping her sword level, she grabbed the handle and thrust it into her skeletal attacker's ribs. The bone warrior looked down at the blade as if in confusion as Ilsa shifted her stance and grip on the zweihander. Pushing with all her might, Ilsa flipped the skeleton up and over her head, slamming the flailing enemy into the ground skull first with a satisfying crunch.

Looking around, Ilsa was impressed as she saw the brutally efficient Rajput warriors slice their way through the goblins. The monsters had clearly been expecting an easier fight, the goblins where already beginning to break. The apparently mindless skeletons, on the other hand, seemed content to fight to the end.

Nearby, Magnus faced off with a larger than normal skeleton. The swordsmen reversed the roles of his weapons, attacking with his shield and blocking with his sword. He guided the bone fighter's polearm away from himself and countered with his shield, bashing his enemy in its skeletal face. Not letting up, Magnus continued to literally beat his opponent's skull in. Finally, the big skeleton's skull shattered and the rest of the thing suddenly compressed together into a tight bundle. Around the small battlefield the other skeleton warriors also compressed, their weapons clattering harmlessly to the ground and confused mercenaries cautiously regarding the bundles.

With the battle having died down, Ilsa looked to see the few remaining goblins being cut down by the Rajputs and moved to intervene. She blocked Shakti's sickle sword from disemboweling the final goblin, earning the stocky girl a confused look from both. "Ve had a request to bring one in alive." Ilsa explained. She punched the little monstrosity's lights out and gave a quick order in German to her landsknechts to hogtie the creature.

The four mercenary leaders gathered while their men secured the area, some curiously pocking at the compacted skeletons. "You think Christine would like to pock at one of those bone piles as well?" Magnus wondered.

"Worth a shot," Ilsa said with a shrug.

"What do we do about this village?" William asked, "The camp around the tavern isn't big or fortified enough to move all these people in."

"My men and I can stay and safeguard this village." Shakti said evenly.

"Vhat?! After dey vere gonna burn you?" Ilsa nearly shouted.

"That is in the past."

"Da past of about a half hour ago!" Ilsa persisted.

"Even so, it is behind us, and there's no point in dwelling on it." Shakti said evenly.

"It would be smart to expand our territory," Magnus argued, "We can fight the monsters off until we rot, but they'll just keep coming back if we don't take back the countryside."

"Alright den," Ilsa sighed, she still wasn't too eager about helping the newt and his lot, but Magnus made a good point. "Me und Magnus will go back and inform da general, you two stay here und protect this village. I'll see if ve can spare any more troops to come und help."

With the plan agreed upon, the mercenaries split up and Ilsa and Magnus headed back to the makeshift base camp with a hogtied goblin in tow.

#*#*#

Joan, la Hire, and de Rais followed Prince Edward and his top commanders into the castle's war room. There was clear line of segregation between the two groups of commanders, with Joan and her friends trailing slightly behind the English. Entering the war room, the two groups stood across the table from one another. Edward leaned on the table, displeased at how much of his weight he had to put on it and spoke. "In light of the threat posed by these monsters, I would suggest that we put our war behind us, at least for the time being, do you agree?"

de Rais, who'd always acted as the de facto leader of the trio, met the prince's gaze easily and nodded. "I agree, zese creatures are a much greater threat to France zen you lot ever were." He looked over his shoulder at la Hire, the big man glanced at the English then back to his friend and nodded. Beside de Rais, Joan smiled, happy that her friends were willing to cooperate.

The next several hours where spent compiling troop numbers, figuring which strongholds were worth defending, and discussing strategy. A great deal of information the two sides would normally protect with their lives was revealed during the meeting. Both sides attempted to be cordial, but there was nevertheless an uncomfortable formality born of their very recent hostilities. All throughout de Rais had demonstrated a surprisingly good knowledge of the monsters.

At long last, the gathered officers decided they'd done all that they could for the evening. Allowing himself a weary sigh, Edward turned to Joan and her friends, "The three of you are welcome to stay here in castle, your officers as well."

Seeing la Hire and even de Rais look hesitant, Joan stepped up and said. "I did promise you two drinks in ze English headquarters after ze last battle."

Reactions from the English ranged from irritated (Hotspur) to amused (Branwyn). la Hire cracked a smile, "True enough. Perhaps zis once you'll join us in trying something a little stronger?"

"I doubt it," Joan said with a good natured smile, "But stranger zings 'ave 'appened."

#*#*#

In Champaign, near a crossroads, there sat a small but well-fortified outpost. It had been built by the French, but had changed hands many times in the endless war between France and England, usually at great cost. Fittingly enough, the French were the last humans to occupy it, the blue clad soldiers who'd been guarding the outpost now impaled on spikes around the gates. Inside, goblins milled about; inattentively watching for attackers, sharpening weapons, preforming other menial tasks, or simply relaxing.

Standing beside a pig carcass hanging from a chain over a fire, an apron wearing goblin hatched charred meat from the pig with a clever and handed it off to his comrades waiting in line. Upon receiving his ration, one goblin warrior seemed displeased. He held his slab of pig meat up to the cook, complaining about its size and quality in the goblins' indecipherable language. The cook angrily shot back that he'd take what he got or nothing at all. Behind the discontent fighter, other hungry goblins were getting impatient.

Before the argument could continue the cook and angry goblin were struck by arrows in the left and right eye respectively. The goblins still in the chow line, and elsewhere in the outpost, recoiled in shock and surprise. The frantically looked around only to spot Fastolf and de Richemont sitting calmly atop their horses at the head of several armed and stone faced human warriors.

"Good evening, gents." Fastolf called, "Lovely evening for a fight."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 7 Steps Forward, Part 1

Author's Note: Apologies for the long hiatus, hopefully I can get back on track from here. It feels somewhat wrong to be posting half a chapter, but I wanted to finally put something out. Part 2 will be out soon (I hope) and the two will be combined into one when the next chapter is posted. Would also like to take this chance to give a shout out to Bloodwitch Raven, for generously donating the OC Alice, who is briefly introduced in this chapter, thanks a lot for supporting my story.

Having just been relieved of guard duty, James and Owen made their way to the castle's courtyard. The tired English swordsmen settling in near the stables, and were soon joined by Malcolm. The three soldiers chatted ideally, about everything and nothing, for a short time when they noticed a French soldier approach, a bottle of wine in hand.

"What can we do for ya, Frenchie?" the archer asked, James and Owen eying the man.

Maurice, a swordsman, held out the bottle in offering, "Complements of Gilles de Rais. A peace offering of sorts."

Malcolm and Owen exchanged looks before deciding 'why not?', Owen gesturing for the blue clad soldier to join them. Maurice sat and uncorked the bottle, taking a swig and passing it to Owen. As the young soldier drank, Maurice looked to James, who so far had said nothing. "You're not one for wine, Englishman?"

"Prefer English beer," James shrugged, noticing Owen's look. The veteran soldier sighed and shifted in his seat. He turned to Maurice and spoke plainly, "To be sure, I don't like you Frenchie, I didn't even like you French before I joined the Army." He finally took the bottle, "But I've seen things in the last few days that've given me a new perspective."

As James took his first drink, Owen leaned toward Maurice with a good natured smile. "Tell ya what I think; with our prince and your w...maid, them beasts don't stand a chance."

Just as the young swordsmen finished shouting was heard and the four men jumped up in time to see griffons flying by. Maurice turned to his new friend and said, "I 'ope you are right, mon ami."

#*#*#

Several minutes earlier, the top commanders of the newly formed alliance were gathered in the same dining room Joan had eaten in the evening before. Noticing the awkward separation between the two nationalities, the Maid had decided to make the first move and made a show of talking with Edward and any other English interested. Seeing their champions getting along seemed to have a pleasant ripple effect.

Edward had to admit, he rather enjoyed talking with Joan. Being heir to the throne, he'd of course had more than a little experience with young women, but nearly all the girls who'd fawned over him in London were either social climbers looking to make themselves queen, or the daughters of ambitious nobles, pressured into trying to seduce Edward by their fathers. Joan, on the other hand, wanted nothing from Edward, and she'd made no judgment when she'd caught him in moment of weakness, and the prince was grateful. He also caught himself admiring her stunning eyes and beautiful hair.

It was while looking over the Maid that the prince noted the state of her trademark lily. "Joan, you're flower is starting to wilt." The French heroine pulled the lily from her ear and sighed in disappointment seeing the prince was right. "I seem to remember seeing lilies growing near the north wall, I could show you were if you'd like."

Joan smiled at the offer, "Thank you, Edward."

Just as la Hire approached to join the conversation, Joan noticed a lithe and petite girl, only slightly taller than Ilsa, enter the room, her long orange chain braid bobbing from side to side as she walked. The French champion also noted several chakrams hooked to her belt. The newcomer cast a glance toward Joan and la Hire, reveiling her eyes to be mismatched, the left was blue, and the right was green, and moved toward Iamarl and Hotspur.

"That's Iamarl's apprentice, Alice," Edward explained. Joan looked back to the assassins to see Alice seemingly waving her hands at Iamarl. "They communicate with hand singles, none of the rest of us can quite figure the system out."

"Can't they just talk?" la Hire asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Alice is mute."

#*#*#

Alice made her way across room toward her mentor, noticing Joan of Arc, la Hire, and de Rais with a quick scan around the room. This only confused things further for the young assassin. She'd been on a simple mission to spy on a village leader, suspected of selling secrets to the French, when the entire village had been raised to the ground by monsters. She'd barely managed to escape and sneak her way back to English lines, sleeping in a ditch at one point.

Seeing her apprentice, Iamarl breathed a sigh of relief, pulling Alice into a quick hug then stepping back to check the girl for injuries. Once Iamarl seemed satisfied, Alice brought her hands up. _Master, what's going on?_ she signaled.

"Oh, Alice is safe," Henry sarcastically muttered, "Wonderful."

Alice flashed Henry a more recognizable, and very rude, hand gesture just before her mentor spoke. "Things have changed a great deal very quickly," Iamarl explained, "We've made an alliance with the French, or at least Joan of Arc and her forces."

 _Should we head back to England?_ Alice signed.

"They would only follow us, once they'd overrun the French," Iamarl reasoned, "We must stop the creatures here."

Alice considered this, finally nodding in acceptance of Iamarl's logic.

The older assassin's features softened, "Enough dire talk, rest, spend some time Branwyn. This new war will be where we left it in the morning."

Alice nodded and moved to find a seat when she was suddenly glomped upon by Branwyn with a shout of "Alice!"

The young assassin rolled her miss matched eyes with an annoyed "Hmm," in an attempt to maintain her 'tough girl' persona, but ultimately relented and returned the archer's embrace.

#*#*#

Chandos had kept mostly to himself throughout the gathering, even after his fellow English had begun to mingle with the French. It wasn't that the one eyed general was anti-social, even if he wasn't the friendliest man, but rather his concerns over one particular French commander; Gilles de Rais.

Chandos eyed de Rais suspiciously. The English general had been to distrust the long haired knight's intentions during the strategy meeting, when de Rais' knowledge of the monsters had proven much more extensive then what one could plausibly learn in the few days since they'd arrived.

" **So far, the monsters have been moving in war bands of varying sizes." Edward explained, "Anywhere from a few score to over a hundred."**

" **Zat won't last," de Rais casually observed, "Before long, ze monsters will gather into hordes of thousands. Zey will no doubt target Paris; zey will want to destroy Notre Dame."**

Deciding not to sit on his suspicions any longer, Chandos made his way purposefully toward de Rais. Seeing the older man approach, de Rais turned to the semi-hostile English and nodded in greeting. "Au revoir, Chandos, was it?"

"How do you know so much about these beasts, de Rais?" Chandos demanded, never one to beat around the bush.

"I'm well read." the long haired knight shrugged.

"Don't give me that tripe," Chandos snapped, "Hordes of monsters come rushing out of the damned woods and you just happen to have read about them?"

de Rais sighed and finally turned fully to the stern commander, "What are you accusing me of, Chandos?"

"Nothing...yet." Chandos said, noticing several officers listening in on the talk. "Just give me a damned straight answer."

"Call it...curiosity," de Rais hesitantly explained, "Ze church always spoke so vehemently about ze so-called 'unholy.' I was curious what could be so terrifying to an organization zat supposedly had ze authority of Christ. Ze clergy only offered more dogmatic platitudes, so I..." de Rais glanced at Joan, "...I sought ozere sources of information."

Before the dark haired knight could speak further, an English officer came into the dining hall and spoke. "Pardon the interruption, my lords, my ladies, but...there's a situation that requires your attention."


End file.
